Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own
by LightWoman
Summary: Gillian has some family issues to deal with, and as much as she'd like to pretend she doesn't need anyone's help, Cal's not about to let her go through it alone.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own any of this**

Chapter One

"Cal?"

He knew straight away something was wrong, could tell just from her voice, but as he glanced up at her his suspicion was confirmed. Gillian stood in the doorway, her posture, expression and entire demeanour screaming at him that all was not well with his partner.

"Yes, love?"

"I need some time off." She took a few tentative steps into the room, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Okay." He wasn't about to refuse her request, not that he really had a right to; as equity partner, she didn't require his permission to take some leave. Still, under other circumstances he might try and argue – tell her that now wasn't the best time, that the company would struggle without her presence for a few days or however long it was that she planned to be gone for, that with the financial state the company was in right now (which, admittedly, _was_ his fault) they could really do with her being around to help them work through as many cases as possible. He might have teased her, pretended to be irritated by her request, kidded her that she was being selfish when really, Gillian Foster was the most selfless person he knew. But now was not the time.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to question her about it, though. It just meant he would be more gentle than usual. "Why, love?"

"I…" She swallowed. "I just need some personal time, Cal. That's all."

"Why?"

"Cal." She shook her head, clearly not wanting to talk about it, not that he was going to let that stop him.

He stood up and walked towards her, placing a hand gently on her arm.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked softly, stooping slightly as he sought out her eyes. Eventually she met his gaze, and he saw a myriad of emotions flashing across her face; sadness, fear, guilt… _guilt? What's that about?_ Being able to read microexpressions and recognise human emotions was one thing, piecing what you saw together to create an entire picture of that person and what they were thinking and feeling – and, more importantly, _why _they were thinking and feeling that – was another thing altogether.

"I… I have to go home for a bit," she said, tearing her gaze away from his and casting her eyes downwards in a clear display of shame.

"To California?" he asked with a small frown. Gillian hadn't been home to LA in a long, long time.

She nodded. "I've got some… family stuff to deal with."

"Everything okay?" No, it wasn't. Of course it wasn't. He knew that, and she probably knew that he knew that. Still, he was giving her the chance to explain, if she wanted to. And if she didn't, he'd let it go. Let her hide behind her lies if she wanted to, he wouldn't push her.

"Everything's fine."

"That's a lie." _Way to go on the whole 'not pushing her' thing, Cal,_ he told himself, sighing inwardly.

She looked surprised at his accusation, and took half a step back. "I…"

"Tell me, Foster. What's happened to make you go running back home for the first time in years?"

"I'm okay, Cal," she said, attempting a smile of reassurance.

"Pretty sure that's not the question I asked, love." He took a step towards her, making up the distance she had put between them with her hesitant retreat. "I'm not letting you out of here 'til you tell me what's going on, so you might as well tell me now." He tried to keep his tone soft, but she raised her eyebrows at his words, a look of irritation on her face.

"You won't _let _me leave?" He wouldn't have minded the irritation if it had wiped away her sadness, but it was still there, along with the fear, and the guilt and the shame… why the hell was she feeling so guilty?

"I care about you," he said simply, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging helplessly. "I know something's wrong, and if you go gallivanting off home without telling me what's wrong first, I'll spend every minute you're gone going through all the terrible possibilities that my mind can generate as to what's going on. And that's hardly fair, is it?" He attempted a smile, and was pleased when she returned it, although half heartedly.

"I suppose not." She sighed, knotting her fingers together. Sadness crossed her face again. "It's my father," she said at last, and Cal felt a flicker of anger cross his face before he could stop it.

"What's he done now?" He tried not to let his emotions show, but his question came out as more of a growl, which didn't escape her notice. Cal was hardly her father's biggest fan.

"He died, Cal," she said, tears starting to spill out onto her cheeks. "He died."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Totally not mine.**

Chapter Two

Cal was stunned into momentary silence before realising that leaving Gillian crying was simply not an option. Leaping forward, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. She turned her face to the side, leaning against his chest, her whole body quivering.

"Ssh, it's alright love, it's alright," he soothed, gently stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, pulling away slightly, and he frowned at her.

"Stop that right now, do you hear me? I'm sick of you always being sorry when you have no reason to be. None of this is your fault, is it?"

"He wanted to see me." She took a step back, averting her eyes. As much as he regretted the loss of contact, feeling that she needed it right now, he respected her decision and stood still, waiting patiently for her to elaborate. "He… he called, several times, over the last few weeks. Left me messages. Said he wanted to talk, to see me. I didn't return his calls. I ignored him."

There it was. He saw it now, with perfect clarity. This was her guilt – for ignoring her father's messages. How was he going to make her feel better about _that_ one?

"You weren't to know this was going to happen, love," he pointed out, but she shook her head.

"I should have called him back, should have gone to see him. There was urgency in his voice and I just… We hadn't spoken in five years, Cal. Five years. What if he wanted to make amends? What if he had some explanation to offer me for his behaviour over the years, something important he had to say, an apology, a… a goodbye." She wiped at her eyes furiously, embarrassed to be crying. "It was his last request, to see me. And I didn't know. I did nothing… his dying wish, and I…" She gulped. "I took that chance away forever, Cal. He's gone, and now I'll never have the chance to ask him all those questions I never had the courage to ask, and _he'll _never have the chance to make it up to me."

"Listen to me," Cal said firmly, placing his hands on her shoulders, waiting until she lifted her eyes to his before he continued speaking. "You weren't to know this was going to happen, so you have no reason to feel guilty. And even if he had had a lifetime, your father would never have been able to make up for all he did to you and be the father you truly deserved." He paused. "I know you feel guilty for not returning his calls, but you made the decision to walk away a long time ago, and it was for the best, wasn't it? It's not as if he wasn't deserving of the punishment of not having you in his life anymore." She raised her eyebrows at his words, but he wasn't about to take them back. "I'm sorry he's dead," he told her sincerely, "and I know they say you shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but that man treated you appallingly throughout your whole life, and I refuse to let you beat yourself up over things which are not your fault now. He caused you enough problems when he was alive – let his death be the end of it, not the beginning of another onslaught of pain."

"He was my father, Cal," she said, a hint of aggression in her voice as she shrugged his hands off her shoulders. "I know our relationship was complicated, but he was my _father_."

"I know, love. And I'm not saying you shouldn't mourn him. But don't go thinking that this is your fault, because it's not. Understood?"

She sighed. "It's just… going to be difficult. Going home, seeing Mom… the funeral…" She shuddered at the word, and he instinctively reached out a hand to rub her arm lightly.

"Well, you'll get through it, Foster. I'll help you."

"How?" she asked, blinking at him in surprise, and he smiled at her gently.

"Whatever you need, love. I'll be there."

"The funeral's in LA, Cal. My family are in LA. And you're here."

"Foster, do you really think I'm going to let you go through this alone? You really don't know me, if that's the case."

"Cal." She shook her head as his words began to sink in. "You can't leave, it's bad enough I'm asking for time off right now…"

"I'm coming with you." There was a finality in his voice that she'd heard plenty of times before.

"Cal…" She exhaled as she said his name. "You don't have to do that."

"No, I don't _have _to do that. Doesn't mean I _can't _do it though."

"But the company, Cal, the cases…"

"Cases can wait. Loker and Torres are here, and the rest of the staff. They can cope without us for a while, Foster. And if the company does fall apart without us… well." He shrugged. "So be it. You're more important."

She felt a swell of emotion at his words, and blinked back a fresh wave of tears. "What about Emily…"

"She'll be fine, Zoe's around."

"But…"

"No arguments, Foster. I know how much you love to argue with me, but you know you just end up losing anyway, so you might as well just accept it right now. Tomorrow, you and I are catching the first flight out to LA, and we are going to stay as long as we have to for you to sort out everything that needs sorting out. Understood?"

She gave him a weak smile, and he leant forward to kiss her lightly on the cheek. "You'll get through this, love. I promise."

She nodded. "I'd better go home and pack."

"I'll sort the flights, give you a call when I know what time I'll be coming to pick you up to go to the airport, alright?"

"Alright." She smiled in gratitude and slowly walked towards the door, stopping as her hand hovered inches above the handle. "Cal?"

"Yes, love?"

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes still glittering with tears, as she pulled open the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"You're welcome, love," Cal answered quietly, although she'd already gone. "You're welcome."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

She was silent during the ride to the airport; at one point, Cal thought she'd gone to sleep, but perhaps she was just feigning sleep to avoid conversation. Not that he was going to push her to talk. When she was ready, Gillian would open up – he would just have to be patient, and pray that she'd actually open up _enough _to allow him in to help her. Revealing just enough to make the extent of her pain clear but not enough to allow him to do anything might just be more than he could bear.

As he pulled into a parking space at the airport, Cal turned to her, intending to wake her as gently as possible. She stirred, turning towards him, confirming his suspicions that she had been awake.

"Alright, love?" he asked as he killed the engine. She merely nodded and climbed out the car.

_She doesn't have to talk yet,_ Cal told himself. _We've got the whole plane ride._

Of course she talked to him during the long and boring process of checking in and waiting for their flight, but it was mundane chatter; did he want a coffee? She hoped the plane wouldn't be delayed. Did he brief Loker and Torres fully about the Hughes case? He replied without sarcasm, reassured her on various points to do with work, and accepted her offer of coffee. Part of him wondered whether he should reassure her more about work or less; the added worry probably wasn't helping her, but the flip side to that argument was that if she was fretting over details which, to Cal at least, were insignificant, she would have less time and energy to spend beating herself up over her lack of communication with her father before his death.

A thought had occurred to Cal though, and he wondered how best to broach it. Deciding to simply dive in with honest curiosity, he asked, "Will you be staying at your Mum's while you're there?"

"I… I guess so." She took another sip of her coffee. "Yeah, I suppose I'll have to."

"Okay. Well, if it gets too much, just let me know, I can always book another room for you at my hotel." He gave her a friendly smile, but she frowned in return.

"I don't want you to stay in a hotel."

He had a feeling he knew where she was going with this, but didn't acknowledge it.

"Oh? Want me to sleep on the streets do you?"

"You're staying with me," she said, the resolve in her voice sounding so much like his own when he'd told her he was going with her to LA, he couldn't help but smile.

"You sure?"

"Of course."

"Will there be room? If there are other family members there… I don't want to get in the way, Foster."

"You could never be in the way." She placed her hand on his, meeting his eyes properly for the first time since he'd picked her up that morning. "I know I said you shouldn't come with me, Cal. I know I pretended that I was only letting you come because I knew you were too stubborn to refuse or let me change your mind, but the truth is… I'm glad you're here."

He smiled. "I'm glad too."

She patted his hand and gave him another smile just as their flight was announced.

"That's us." He stood up and started gathering their bags, stopping when he noticed that Gillian hadn't moved. "Gill?"

"I…" She took a deep breath, seeming almost angry with herself for her lack of courage. "I'm okay."

"I know it's hard, love." He gave her a reassuring smile that he hoped didn't appear patronising. Because the truth was, he _did_ know. He knew what it was like to face ghosts from your past; to have to revisit a place you'd walked away from; to try to step back into your life even though you were no longer the same person who had lived that life. And he knew all too well the pain that could be inflicted by your parents – and how childhood scars never truly healed. Pulling her towards him in a clumsy one-armed hug as he still clutched his holdall, he kissed the top of her head. "You'll be fine. You've got me, I'll take care of you."

He was rewarded with a genuine smile which, although not as bright as her usual smile, still warmed his heart and lifted his spirits.

"Thanks, Cal," she said, but he held up a finger to her lips.

"Remember when I told you you had to stop saying you were sorry? Well, I've decided, you also need to stop thanking me. I'm not doing anything you haven't done for me a thousand times before."

"I never abandoned our business to travel across the country with you."

He shook his head. "You were there for me, love. Whenever I needed you. In my darkest hours… you were the one who took care of me, got me through it all. You picked up the pieces, time and time again. And I don't want you to think I'm just doing this because I want to repay you, but you must realise that you're hardly undeserving of my friendship. I'd do anything for you, Foster. And I don't need your gratitude – I just want to know that you're okay."

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, and then a small smile crossed her face. "Can I say it just once more?"

He sighed dramatically. "Go on, then. But just once."

She leant forward and kissed his cheek, then met his eyes as she whispered, "Thank you, Cal. For everything."

He held her gaze for a moment, then swung back into action. "Right. That's sorted then. Shall we get on our plane before they start calling our names out and moaning that we're late?"

Gillian smiled. "Okay." She swung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her hand luggage, following Cal towards the end of the queue. It had been almost six years since she'd last stepped foot in California. After living there for eighteen years, she'd spent little more than an accumulative eighteen days there in the last two decades. And now it was time to go back, and see what was waiting for her there. More importantly, see whether or not she could handle it. Gillian wondered briefly if, were she facing this alone, she would even have been able to step on the plane, but with Cal by her side, things didn't seem quite so daunting. LA wasn't her home anymore, D.C was, but by bringing Cal she was at least taking a small piece of home with her, and that at least provided a small amount of comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, and never will be**

Chapter Four

Gillian didn't talk much during the plane ride – at least not about her father. They chatted about unimportant matters, and Cal did a good job of distracting her by moaning about Emily's new boyfriend. "He's spending so much time at the bloody house, I ought to start charging him rent."

She laughed. "He seems nice."

"Nice, well, yeah, he _seems _nice enough," Cal grumbled.

"You're hopeless," she smiled at him.

"Well, I'm her father, got to look out for her, haven't I?"

A dark cloud seemed to pass over Gillian's face, and Cal mentally kicked himself. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay, Cal. Please don't feel you have to pussy-foot around me or my feelings. The last thing I want is for you start censoring yourself, choosing your words with such precision because you think I can't handle it, or to stop talking about Emily. She's important to you, she's important to me, and don't think that reminding me what a good father you are will make me feel worse about my own situation. Okay?"

"Okay." They shared a brief smile before lapsing back into another comfortable silence, which Cal eventually broke. "Did I tell you she blew her entire monthly allowance on a pair of shoes the other day?"

Gillian smiled, relaxing back into her seat. "No. What colour were they?"

Cal's expression made her giggle, and he delighted to hear it. However difficult the following days were going to be, however difficult she was finding it right now, just being on a plane hurtling back to the place she hadn't visited for half a decade, if he could still make her smile, or even better, make her laugh, then there was hope.

****************

Having Cal with her certainly kept Gillian occupied during the flight, and for most of the time she was able to focus her mind on other things. Pushing negative thoughts aside and focussing on something else was a handy skill she'd picked up when she was younger – _thanks for that Dad, _she thought wryly.

But when the plane touched down, Gillian felt that familiar feeling – a rush of sadness, of longing for a past and a childhood she'd never had, a sinking feeling of dread and an overwhelming desire to turn and run in the opposite direction. Sensing her shift in mood, Cal rested his hand lightly on hers. "Alright, love?"

She nodded, drawing strength from his presence. "Let's go."

****************

Gillian hadn't taken the drive from the airport to her mother's house for a long time, and yet nothing seemed to have changed. Some shops were different, she supposed, there seemed to be more houses and less trees, and the streets seemed busier, but ultimately it was the same. The same roads, the same skate park, the same long driveways and expensive cars. As her old house came into view, Gillian took in a sharp breath. Vivid images flew into her head of the last time she was at this house – more accurately, the last time she _left _this house. Racing down the steps, half blinded by tears, ignoring her mother's shouted pleas to come back…

Gillian, Cal noted, was deep in thought – and not happy thoughts, that much was obvious. As the taxi pulled up outside the address she'd given, she sat as though glued to her seat while Cal paid the driver, who then hopped out to help them with their luggage.

"Love?" She didn't answer. "This is the right place, yeah?"

She snapped out of her reverie, and nodded at him. "Sorry. Yes, yes this is it."

"Nice place," he commented, admiring the sprawling house in front of him. Large windows, a porch with a swing, an expansive front lawn bursting with flowers. He'd never visited Gillian's Californian home before, and although he wished he were here under better circumstances, he couldn't help but be intrigued and – he felt guilty for even thinking it – slightly excited at the possibility of glimpsing another side to her. In many ways, he knew her so well, and had met her family before - her father twice, and her mother four times, if he recalled correctly, but he'd never been to the house where she grew up, never seen that part of her life. She'd told him things of course, but actually being here was opening up a whole new world to him – a chance to truly see how Gillian Foster came to be Gillian Foster. And as much as he'd give anything to avoid her having to go through this pain, the chance to understand her a little better was an attractive prospect.

They walked slowly up the drive together, Gillian pulling her little suitcase behind her, Cal carrying his large holdall. She slowed her pace as they neared the door, but he was certain it wasn't a conscious decision; she didn't even seem to be aware she was doing it.

They climbed the steps to the porch, and Cal saw her glance wistfully at the porch swing. He wondered how many times she had sat out there on that swing to escape things inside the house that she'd rather not bear witness to. She stood on the doorstep for a few moments, preparing herself to knock. Just as her hand reached towards the door it swung open.

"Gillian!" exclaimed the woman who stood before her. Five foot seven with dark coppery hair that showed not a hint of grey and bright blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle; she was exactly as Gillian remembered her. She didn't look like she'd aged at all in the last three and a half years, but then Gillian wouldn't put it past her to indulge in a few botox injections or some such to keep herself looking youthful.

"Hi, Mom," she said softly, stepping forwards awkwardly into her mother's outstretched arms. Cal stood quietly, watching the two women embrace. He knew Gillian hadn't seen her mother for a long time; perhaps with her father out of the picture, they'd be able to rebuild their relationship. He hoped so, for Gillian's sake.

They broke apart, and Gillian took a small step back, distancing herself from her mother and standing nearer Cal. It was a gesture not lost on him, and, from the look on her mother's face, he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't lost on her either.

"Cal Lightman," she said, addressing him for the first time. "I should have known you'd be here by Gillian's side."

"Mrs Dixon," Cal said, reaching forward to shake her hand. "I hope I'm not intruding; there are plenty of hotels I can stay at…"

"Call me Caroline, and don't even think about going to a hotel. And don't think by what I said that I'm not pleased to see you again. It's been a long time."

Gillian flinched at her mother's comment. "Yes, Mom," she said, a slight edge to her voice. "I know it has."

"And that wasn't a dig at you either. Stop being so sensitive, Gillian. All I meant was that it's nice to see Cal again, and that I'm not surprised you brought him with you. Last time I visited the pair of you were practically inseparable. How's your wife, Cal?" she asked, barely pausing between sentences.

"My ex-wife is fine, thanks," Cal said, noticing the brief smile that darted across Caroline's face.

"Well, that's good," she said breezily, ignoring his comment about Zoe being his ex. "Come on in, then, don't stand on the doorstep all afternoon." She turned and walked back into the house, leaving Gillian standing still, shaking her head.

"Does she look sad to you?" she asked, turning to Cal.

No, she didn't, but Cal felt the question was largely rhetorical – or if Gillian was expecting an answer, it wasn't to the question _does she look sad to you? _but _why doesn't she look sad to you?_

"Come on, love," Cal said, picking up his bag. "Let's go in." He stepped past Gillian into the bright and sunny hallway, glancing briefly at the sign that hung on the wall: God Bless Our Happy Home.

Slowly she picked up her bag and reached for her small suitcase. "Welcome home, Gillian," she muttered to herself as she followed Cal inside, closing the door behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: As always, don't own this stuff…**

Chapter Five

The house was just as luxurious inside as it looked from the outside, with expensive art work and vases dotted around, furniture that looked too good to properly relax in and nothing out of place. It didn't look comfortable or 'lived in', more like a show home really, although Cal had to admit that the design of the house did give it a certain warmth – the pastel shades and mirrors giving out a lot of light. Photos adorned many of the surfaces – Cal was immediately drawn to one of Gillian, looking about eighteen. She looked absolutely stunning in a teal dress, her hair – longer then – hanging below her shoulders in glossy waves.

"Gillian's prom, didn't she look lovely?" Caroline nodded at the photo.

"Where are we sleeping?" Gillian asked, purposefully not looking at the photo. Her mother might remember that as a good night, but Gillian didn't. Yes, the photo showed how pretty she'd looked in her dress heading off to prom, but it didn't show what she'd looked like at the end of the night: eyes black from smudged mascara, face red from receiving a swipe from her father after she'd dared question him about why he was drunkenly peeing in her mother's rosebed, dress ripped after she'd tried to get it off in too much of a hurry, desperate to be rid of the damn thing and just curl up in bed in her pyjamas. All of that, the photo could not show.

"Hmm?" Her mother turned to her daughter as if she'd only just heard her. "Oh, well you're staying in your room, of course."

"My old room," Gillian corrected, and her mother sighed.

"Must you always analyse and correct me on my choice of language, Gillian? Your room, your old room, it's the same thing. You know where it is – or has it been so long you've forgotten your way around the house?"

Gillian fought the urge to roll her eyes or offer a biting response. Her mother was always able to deliver sarcastic comments with such charm, anyone who didn't know her might think she didn't actually mean to come across that way.

"Fine," Gillian said. "And Cal's sleeping in Stephen's old room?"

"If he wants to."

_What does that mean?_ All the frustration Gillian ever felt in her mother's presence was rushing back to her, and she took a shaky breath. "I'll show you where it is then, Cal."

He nodded and followed her towards the stairs.

"Shall I put the kettle on?" her mother called gaily, but Gillian pretended not to hear her, stomping up the stairs feeling as if she were a teenager again.

"That'd be lovely, thanks," Cal answered, and Caroline beamed at him and trotted towards the kitchen.

Arriving at the top of the stairs, he followed Gillian as she walked down the long and wide hallway to the left. "This is yours," she said, stopping outside one of the doors. "And this is me." She jerked her head towards the door opposite.

Cal nodded. "Thanks." He pushed the door open and dragged his bag inside, dumping it beside the bed. He only took a couple of minutes to survey the room – a double bed, bedside table, desk, wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. Simply decorated with magnolia walls and a couple of pictures hanging up, but pleasant enough - it looked like any other guest bedroom, really. He took off his jacket and tossed it onto the bed before crossing the hallway and knocking lightly on Gillian's door.

"Alright love?"

"Come in," she said, and he pushed the door open. This room was pale pink, with a large vase of tulips on the desk.

"Tulips," he commented. She merely nodded. "They're your favourite," he told her.

She sighed. "Yes, Cal. I know they are." She was lying on her bed, stretched out with her hands under her head, her shoes kicked off and laying haphazardly on the floor. "I've been back in this house about five minutes and already I feel like screaming."

"That's families for you, love," he said lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Gillian closed her eyes, when her mother's voice came floating up the stairs. "Tea's ready!"

Gillian opened one eye. "Do I have to go?"

"'Fraid so, love. Come on. A cup of tea, a bit of a catch up with your mum, we'll get an early night as we're tired from the flight, and then tomorrow you'll feel a lot more refreshed and… well, better."

"Will I?"

"Don't know. Sounded good though, right?"

She managed a small smile.

"Did you hear me, Gillian? Tea's ready!" her mother's voice came again.

_I never even said I wanted any bloody tea! _Gillian wanted to scream, but instead swung her legs off the bed and stood up. "Let's go and have tea, then," she said, her voice sounding so falsely cheery it made Cal frown. She marched towards the door and headed down the stairs, and he slowly stood and followed her, wondering exactly what he was getting himself caught in the middle of.

###

"Do you think we should call the office?" Gillian put her cup down without even taking a sip and turned to Cal as she asked the question.

"They'll be fine, Foster. They'll call if they need us. If it makes you feel better, I'll give them a call tomorrow morning just to check in, okay? But don't you go worrying about them."

"Oh, she was always a worrier." Caroline shook her head. "Exams, friends, boys… if she wasn't worrying about one thing, she was worrying about another."

"Well," Gillian said tightly, "I had things to worry about, didn't I?

"Didn't need to worry about any of those things, though, did you?" Caroline asked, avoiding addressing the implication of Gillian's words. "School – you were always the top of your class and aced every exam or test you ever took, friends – you always had a good little circle of friends, boys – well," she raised one eyebrow and glanced at Cal. "My daughter never had to worry about boys' affections – takes after her mother on that count." She smiled flirtatiously. "Her biggest problem was turning them down, wasn't it Gillian? In some ways I was surprised, you know, because she was always a bit shy, wasn't one of those pushy, cheerleader types, you know, the really popular ones… but she _was _very beautiful, and I guess there was just something about her, because the boys at school…"

"Yes, thanks, Mom," Gillian said, her cheeks slightly flushed, willing the conversation to take another direction.

"Oh, I've embarrassed her now, look. Well, I'm sorry darling, but I speak my mind, you've always known that. And I'm hardly telling Cal anything that's going to surprise him, am I? He's known you for years, he knows you're smart and beautiful, doesn't he?"

Gillian didn't reply, just took a sip of the tea through thinned lips.

"Cookie, Cal?" Caroline asked suddenly, offering him a plate.

"Thanks Mrs Dixon – Caroline," Cal corrected himself as he took one.

"That's right," she told him. "Mrs Dixon is far too formal for friends. Besides, it's not even who I am anymore."

Gillian's head shot up. "What?"

Cal had noticed Caroline wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but wasn't sure if Gillian had spotted it. She was usually so observant, but then it was easy to miss things close to home; you saw what you wanted to see, or what you expected to see with people you knew. An outsider always had the advantage of seeing more, and judging it without bias.

"I'm Caroline Mayer now."

"You went back to your maiden name? When? Why?"

"Well, there doesn't seem much point keeping your married name when you're divorced… although you're still Foster, I see. Cute, that you call her that," she said to Cal as she reached for a cookie herself.

"Divorced?" Gillian was not only struggling to comprehend what her mother was telling her, but was finding it difficult to understand why she was being informed of such a major event in so casual a manner. "You and Dad divorced? When?"

"Two years ago last October."

"And you didn't _tell _me?"

"You haven't exactly been part of our lives for the last few years, sweetheart," her mother pointed out. "More tea Cal?"

"Don't offer him tea! Talk to me!" Cal had never heard Gillian speak like that, and he didn't think he ought to be around to witness it. It felt like an intrusion, sitting there as mother and daughter came to blows.

"I think I'll go for a walk," he said, standing up. "Give me a call if you need me, yeah?" He fixed Gillian with a firm look, making it clear that she was to do that, no matter what it was that she needed him for.

She nodded, placing her cup back on the saucer. Her hands, he noticed, were trembling, but she had a resolved look on her face. _She can handle this_, he told himself. He wouldn't leave her there if he didn't think she could. He'd promised her he'd be there for her, and he would be, but some things had to be sorted out in private, and this was one of them. Neither of them spoke as he walked out the room, and as he opened the door and heard it click shut behind him, he left a deafening silence in his wake.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry it's been a while since I last updated, been very busy at work. Anyway, hope you enjoy the new chapter :-]

**Disclaimer: Still don't own any of this stuff**

Chapter Six

Gillian heard the door close as Cal left the house and turned to her mother, her hands shaking – whether more from nerves or anger, she wasn't sure. She started to speak then changed her mind, her mouth beginning to form different questions before she settled on the one she most wanted an answer to. "What… why… you… why didn't you _tell _me?" Caroline sighed, a look of guilt crossing her face. "Oh, you do feel guilty about it then?" Gillian noted. "Well, that's something I suppose."

Her mother frowned at her. "I don't appreciate you using your science on me, Gillian."

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you'd _talk _to me." She clenched and unclenched her fists, a thousand thoughts whirling through her brain. Yes, her relationship with her parents had always been difficult, but Gillian thought she had some semblance of a bond with her mother, even if they only spoke sporadically on the phone and hadn't actually seen each other for over three years. Gillian knew she was as much to blame for this as her mother; wasn't she the one who turned down her mother's invites to go home for Christmas? Wasn't she the one who said she was too busy when her mother said she could come to visit? But she had thought her parents were still together then; thought going home meant seeing him again, thought visits from her mother meant conversations about her father that Gillian really didn't want to have. And however much part of her brain tried to rationalise and justify her mother's actions, the strongest voice in her head was screaming _Betrayal! _She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to locate the words she wanted, but finding they just would not come. "You never… I didn't… if you'd just…" Her inarticulateness was frustrating her; she was usually so good with words.

"Oh, Gillian," her mother said softly, and Gillian felt tears springing to her eyes, furious with herself for showing such vulnerability. "I didn't want you to worry, that's all. You and Alec were trying to sort out the adoption, and then you had Sophie, and then you lost her, and then your divorce…"

"But did you think I wouldn't find out? Were you planning on keeping this from me forever?"

"I don't know." _An honest answer_, Gillian thought, although that knowledge hardly comforted her. "I suppose I didn't really think it through, Gillian. But you weren't around when it happened, and then… well. What was I going to do? Pop it at the end of your Christmas card? _Enjoy the holidays, PS your father and I are getting a divorce_? Find time in one of the three minute conversations we have every six months to tell you the news?"

"You should have told me," Gillian repeated, willing her eyes to stop tearing up. "Things would have been different."

"How?" Her mother's eyes were blazing as she shot the question at her daughter, challenging her.

"Because I could have come to see you! We could have… I don't know, done something about this… this… _us,_" she stressed.

"Well, you know now." The statement seemed to signal Caroline's desire to end the discussion, and Gillian could see her chance of having a real, heartfelt conversation with her mother slipping away. Just like every other time Gillian had tried to talk to her about something serious or important. Whenever things got too difficult, her mother would suddenly change the subject, become flippant, try and use humour where it was really not appropriate, refuse to delve any deeper into her feelings but instead brush everything under the carpet and pretend it had never happened. As much as Gillian wanted to challenge her on this, to scream _Talk to me! _she knew her efforts would be futile. She hadn't spent almost two decades living with her mother to not know when she was fighting a losing battle.

"So, are you coming to the funeral?" Gillian was struggling to see how her mother was going to fit into the grieving process; she'd imagined having to support her at the funeral, imagined her mother's friends scurrying around to offer comfort to the grieving widow, had imagined how she would have to help her mother go through her father's things. A thousand other tasks that Gillian in no way wanted to be a part of, and yet had felt was her duty. And now, none of them seemed likely. Her parents had been divorced for two and a half years; his stuff was gone. Her mother wasn't the grieving widow she would have been if her marriage hadn't failed. Her mother's friends probably felt they no longer had any connection to the man who'd just died. Gillian knew her family had never had a traditional dynamic, and the picture of the 'happy family' was never one she'd visualised when referring to her own situation, but in most respects she knew where the parts of her life lay. Now it was as though someone had taken all the pieces of the puzzle of her life and thrown them into the air, scattering them everywhere. And when she managed to piece them back together again, Gillian had no idea what kind of picture to expect to see before her.

"Of course I'm going." Her mother exhaled loudly. "I've sorted it all out. I told you on the phone it was on Tuesday, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"2pm. St Augustus. He'll be cremated. It's what he wanted."

Gillian merely nodded. Her mother sighed, and she glanced up; was she about to open up again?

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, darling. Truly I am. I see now it was the wrong decision. But hey, I'm a parent. Guess what, we make mistakes!" she trilled. Gillian returned her eyes to her unfinished cup of tea.

"Do you still love him?"

Her question hung in the air; heavy and oppressing. Caroline reached for her cup and took another sip of her tea, draining the cup. Eventually she looked up, meeting her daughter's expectant gaze. "Do you still love Alec?"

_Deflection,_ Gillian thought, but she didn't dare say it. Answering a question with another question was one of her mother's favourite conversation moves, and it infuriated her. But drawing attention to it would only fuel the situation and get her nowhere near the truth; in this case, the truth was Gillian's best course of action. The truth buys you the truth.

"No."

Her mother nodded, and Gillian waited for her to give her own answer.

"And Cal?"

Gillian's eyebrows shot up in shock. "What… I… what?"

"Does he still love his ex?" Caroline asked sweetly. "Did you think I meant something else, darling?"

Gillian narrowed her eyes slightly. "I don't know. But we're not talking about Cal. Or me. We're talking about you and Dad. Do you still love him?"

For a second, a look of pure vulnerability crossed her mother's face; she looked like a child who'd just been scolded by someone they loved. Then it was gone, and her sunny smile was back in place. "I was married to him for forty years. He was the father of my children. He'll always have a place in my heart. But no… I think I stopped loving him a long time ago."

Gillian hardly dared breathe in case her mother closed the valve again and reverted to form, sealing the truth and her feelings inside, underneath her 'everything is fabulous, darling' demeanour.

"Anyway. Enough gloomy talk. I know your father's dead, and yes, it's very sad, but he wouldn't want us moping around, would he?" She stood up. "Stephen's coming tomorrow. I think I'll make a cake."

"He's staying here until the funeral?" Gillian stood up, following her mother into the kitchen so they could continue their conversation. "Where's he going to sleep?"

"In his… oh. Hmm." Caroline smiled playfully at her daughter, and Gillian frowned at her. "Oh, stop being so serious, Gillian. He's staying at a hotel. Apparently coming back home for a few days is beyond the call of duty."

"Are Helen and the kids coming?"

"I assume so."

Gillian smiled. As difficult as things might be at home right now, she didn't see her niece and nephew nearly enough; this could be the silver lining to the cloud of returning home.

Her mother was busying herself around the kitchen, arranging ingredients and fetching equipment. Gillian stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

"Oh, stop hovering will you Gillian?" Her mother's tone was friendly enough, she even shot her daughter a smile as she reached for a spoon and started scooping sugar into a bowl. "Why don't you give Cal a call and see where he is? The two of you could take a walk, you could show him some of the places you used to go when you sneaked out of the house as a teenager."

There was no anger in her mother's voice, not even disappointment or annoyance, yet Gillian still felt like she was being berated for something that had happened in what felt like another lifetime. She sighed. "Okay. See you later." She retreated to the living room and retrieved her phone, dialling Cal's number. He answered on the first ring.

"Everything okay?"

She smiled, feeling comforted just by the sound of his voice. "Where are you?" He described his location, and Gillian nodded, reaching for her bag. "Wait there. I'll be ten minutes."


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry it's been a while since I updated this story, this last week at work has been insanely stressful and hectic, but things have calmed down a little now, so hopefully you won't have too long to wait after this for the next chapter ;-)

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Well, Caroline is LOL. But the rest… sadly not.**

Chapter Seven

"Eleven minutes." Cal looked at his watch, then met Gillian's eyes with a grin. "You said ten."

"So I lied." She smiled as she stood next to him on the edge of the pier, feeling the cool sea breeze ruffle her hair.

"You and your Mum get things sorted out?" he asked, looking at her with concern.

She let out a short laugh. "I think even if we had a lifetime we'd never get everything 'sorted out', but… we're okay. I think."

"Is she still driving you crazy?"

"Oh, yes," Gillian said, emphasising the two words heavily. "I suppose I should find that a comfort, that nothing's really changed."

"What's she been teasing you about now?" He caught a slight flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, but she quickly turned away, the wind catching her hair and blowing it across her face, masking her from his gaze.

"Oh, just… things. Stephen's getting here tomorrow, apparently," she said, changing the subject. "I assumed he'd only come back for a day. It'll be good to catch up."

"When did you last see him? Last summer when he came to D.C?"

She nodded. "He brought the kids over for a week while Helen was off on some business trip to South Korea, and spent the week hanging out with you in various bars across the city while I looked after the kids. Remember?"

He grinned at her. "Not the _whole _week."

"Pretty much the whole week." She laughed, a sound he wasn't sure he'd hear too much while she was back in California.

"He's not a bad bloke, your brother."

"No, he's not." She gazed out at the ocean, feeling herself slightly calmed by it. She'd always loved the ocean; the sight of miles of blue, stretching to the horizon; the sound of the crashing waves; the smell of the salt in the air. Escaping whenever she could from home, she'd always ended up at the ocean, usually here at the Santa Monica pier, as it was closest to her home. She inhaled deeply, then turned to Cal.

"If I said that I missed the ocean more than my family when I left California, would you think I was a terrible person?"

"Love, you could tell me you'd just committed a mass murder and you'd have a hard job convincing me you were a terrible person."

She laughed, but it was lacking her usual warmth. They stood for a long time, staring out at the ocean without speaking. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence; Gillian had wiled away many hours as a teenager staring out to sea without saying a word, although she hadn't usually had someone standing next to her who was willing to share her silent reverie. Being back 'home' - although she was reluctant to use the word – was far from easy, but Cal's presence was at least making it a bearable, if not pleasurable, experience.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there, but the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, smudging the sky with a hint of pink, when she felt Cal's hand brush lightly against her arm.

She turned to him, knowing he was asking her if she was ready to go back to the house, and also knowing he'd never put that question into words. She gave him a weak smile, trying to affirm it with a nod. "Let's go."

###

Her mother was sitting on the sofa flicking through a magazine when Gillian and Cal re-entered the house; Gillian could tell from a quick glimpse of the pictures that it was one of the tacky gossip magazines her mother loved and she hated. Although completely unaware that she'd allowed any hint of disgust to cross her face, her mother immediately closed it and tossed it onto the coffee table, saying, "Oh, don't be such a snob, Gillian, it's just a bit of fun. It says in here that Brad Pitt…"

"That's great, Mom," she interrupted, her disinterest apparent.

Caroline sighed. "I should have given up trying to force you to share my interests a long time ago, shouldn't I? You should have seen us years ago, Cal," she said, and Gillian braced herself for what her mother was going to say now. "We'd go on holiday and I'd be reading up on the latest celebrity news while she had her nose in a textbook. Frightfully embarrassing around the pool."

Cal saw Gillian's nostrils flare as she tried to control an acid-tongued remark that was no doubt on the verge of exploding from her mouth. "She reads Shakespeare, I read romance novels." She laughed. "Wouldn't think we were mother and daughter, would you?"

Cal caught Gillian's eye, but she quickly looked away. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to find out that she secretly enjoyed the kind of novels she'd turned her nose up at as a child. It was a pastime she was happy to share with Cal and her friends in D.C, a part of her life – a part of _her _– that held no shame or embarrassment there, but here it was a guilty pleasure that she really didn't want her mother discovering.

Cal's phone started ringing, and he reached for it quickly. "Sorry," he apologised, ducking out of the room as he held it to his ear.

"I booked us a table at Melisse tonight," her mother said suddenly.

"Why, Mom?" Gillian asked, exasperated. "Cal and I are tired, we don't want to go out tonight, we just want to get to bed."

"Is that so?" her mother asked mildly, raising one eyebrow a fraction, and Gillian felt herself blush.

"I… well, I mean… _I'm _tired and I want to get to bed, and I'm sure Cal does too, you know, it's been a long day…"

"Of course, darling. I just thought it would be nice to share a meal together tonight. It's been so long since we've done that…"

_Why are mothers so good at guilt trips?_ Gillian thought with a sigh. "Fine. We'll go. But we're not staying out late."

"Lovely." Carline beamed at her. "Have you got anything to wear?"

Gillian looked down at her black trousers and sapphire blue jumper. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, darling, it's just – well, Melisse you know, it's a smart place, several of my friends go there, people from the tennis club…"

Gillian rolled her eyes. "I understand, mother. Don't worry. I'll find something nice and _smart _to wear."

Cal appeared in the doorway, looking from Caroline to Gillian with an enquiring expression. Gillian gave him a look that clearly signalled her mother was still annoying her, and he gave her a friendly smile in return.

"Mom's booked us a table at dinner tonight," she told him. "It's a smart place, so I hope you brought your finest suit."

"Oh, Cal will be fine Gillian, he always looks nice," Caroline said, smiling brightly at him.

_As opposed to me you mean, _Gillian thought, gritting her teeth. She headed to the kitchen and turned the tap on full force, thrusting a glass under it and filling it so far it almost overflowed.

"I'm glad to see you feel comfortable enough here to help yourself to a drink," her mother commented, appearing in the room, making Gillian wonder if she'd be able to go anywhere in the house without her mother following her. Caroline sat down at one of the stools by the breakfast bar and reached for an apple from the fruit bowl.

Gillian sighed in frustration, then said slowly and deliberately, "I'm sorry, Mom. Please may I have a drink?"

"I wasn't implying that you were being rude, Gillian. I'm genuinely pleased that you feel comfortable enough here to help yourself to things, that's all I meant. No hidden insult." She took a large bite of her apple, surveying her daughter as she crunched on it loudly.

Gillian took a gulp of water, placing her hand on the counter to steady herself. _Am I reading too much into this? Perhaps she really is trying to be nice. Perhaps I'm overreacting. _She took another sip of water, then smiled at her mother. "So, what time is the table booked for?"

"Seven thirty. I didn't want to make it too late, I knew you and Cal would be tired." Caroline took another bite of her apple, and Gillian felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over her, along with more irritation. _Why do I have to feel this way whenever she speaks to me? Will we ever be able to have a conversation where I don't feel like she's trying to manipulate me in some way? _She sighed, although she tried not to let it show.

"Right. Well, I think I'll go and have a shower and start getting ready, then."

Caroline nodded. Gillian glanced at Cal, who'd appeared in the doorway, and he immediately answered her silent plea. "I'll excuse myself as well, Caroline, if you don't mind, I must call my daughter before we go tonight."

"Of course, Cal. How is she? She must be getting big now! Actually, don't tell me – we'll discuss it at dinner." She smiled widely at him, and he gave her a polite smile in return, then followed Gillian out the kitchen.

Once they were safely upstairs and out of earshot (although Gillian wouldn't put it past her mother to sneak upstairs and listen at the door) Gillian let out her frustration, as well as airing her concerns to Cal.

"Am I overreacting? Is it normal to be driven this crazy by your mother? Is she really being terrible, or am I just being a terrible daughter?" She ran her fingers through her hair, easing out the tangles that had developed during what had felt like an endless day.

"I don't know, love," Cal answered, thinking he hadn't seen Gillian this flustered since the last time she'd had to deal with her parents. "All you can do is try not to let her get to you. Sorry, I know that's crap advice. But you're the shrink, not me. What would you say to a patient if she had a mother like yours?"

"I'd tell her to take out a loan to pay for all the therapy she was going to need." Gillian sank onto the bed, closing her eyes. "And my plan to disappear to my room early tonight evaporated the moment she picked up the phone to book the table."

"It was a nice gesture though, wasn't it?" Cal ventured.

Gillian opened one eye and gave him a look that clearly showed she disagreed with that statement, and he couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Look at it this way, love. It could be worse. You might have had to go to dinner tonight just the two of you. But I'll be there."

Gillian opened her other eye and allowed a small smile to flicker over her face. "That's true."

"I'll talk to her a lot about Emily, and work, and other stuff… limited conversation for you, if you like. Plus, if you need out, I can leap in with another topic of conversation. Want to have a secret 'help me out' codeword?"

"I doubt we'll need that, you'll just be able to read me and my agonising discomfort."

"You're okay with that?"

She smiled. "Yes, Cal. Besides, if she's really a nightmare, you won't have to read my facial expressions at all – when you see me throwing cutlery across the table at her, you'll know it's time to step in."

"Okay." He laughed. "Well, I'd better go call Emily – otherwise what I said to your mother is a lie, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?" He grinned at her, pleased when he was able to raise another small smile.

When he'd gone, closing the door behind him, Gillian stood up slowly and crossed over to her wardrobe, where she'd carefully hung up all her clothes when she'd unpacked earlier. Dinner at Melisse with her mother was enough to make her want to crawl under her covers and never come out, but Cal was right – he'd be there with her. And dinner at Melisse with Cal wouldn't be an entirely horrendous way to spend an evening, she reflected. _As long as Mom doesn't try and embarrass me again…_

She reached for a deep purple halterneck dress she'd packed 'just in case', and laid it out carefully on the bed before glancing at the clock. Six fifteen. _Five hours_, she thought, _and I'll definitely be in bed. _It was going to be a long evening.


	8. Chapter 8

So, bit of a long chapter here – longer than some entire fics put together, actually! Lol. It seemed silly to break the chapter in the middle of the restaurant scene, so you've got it all together ;-)

**Disclaimer: Same as always, not mine, wish it was, etc etc**

Chapter Eight

Cal knocked lightly on Gillian's door at ten past seven. "Your Mum's ordered a taxi," he called. "Be here in about five minutes."

"Okay. I'll be down in a minute," she shouted back.

Cal debated briefly whether to wait in his room until Gillian was ready or join Caroline downstairs; eventually deciding hiding in his room was a cowardly and unnecessary thing to do, he headed for the living room.

"Cal." She smiled at him as he entered and sat on the sofa. "You look nice."

"Thanks. So do you," he reciprocated, thinking Caroline did indeed look smart in her black skirt and emerald green blouse. It brought out the colour of her eyes, which, Cal had noticed the first time he met her, were the same colour as Gillian's.

"So, Cal, how long are you going to be staying in California? Don't think I'm keen to get rid of you – trust me, nothing could be further from the truth – but you do have a business and a daughter back home. I'd hate to think Gillian's circumstances were taking you away from where you need to be."

_Circumstances_, Cal thought. _Interesting choice of word. _"Emily's at her Mum's, and work can wait. I'll be here as long as I need to be."

She nodded, satisfied, then looked up at the sound of movement in the hall. Cal also turned his head to the door, raising his eyebrows slightly when Gillian walked in. She looked absolutely stunning; her dress hugged her figure in all the right places, the colour looked amazing on her, and her delicate silver earrings and necklace made her look elegant as well as beautiful.

"Gillian," her mother exclaimed, standing up. "Don't you look lovely? Didn't I tell you it was better to change? She looks gorgeous, doesn't she Cal?"

"Thanks," Gillian said, a little awkwardly. She smiled at Cal, and he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks.

"You look lovely," he agreed, returning her smile. His statement was punctuated by a knock on the door, and Caroline quickly scooped up her bag.

"Car's here, let's go!"

She was out the door before either of them could move. Cal saw Gillian take a deep breath, and reached out to give her hand a brief squeeze. "Alright, love?"

She nodded. "It might not be as bad as I think. Right?"

"Right." He grinned. "Ever the optimist, Gill."

"Think it's unrealistic to hope to get through dinner without any anger, resentment, deep and bitter regret…"

He laughed, even though the fact that there was truth shimmering beneath her humour made him want to wrap his arms around her protectively and never let her go.

"Come on." He stepped towards the door. "Can't keep your mother waiting."

"Heaven forbid," she murmured, but she managed another small smile, and together they left the house and walked towards the waiting car.

###

Gillian hadn't been to Melisse for years, but it was just as beautiful as she'd remembered, with dark purple walls and white chairs and tablecloths. They were shown to their seats by a handsome young waiter – but then, everyone in California always seemed to look so attractive, Gillian had forgotten that.

The waiter certainly seemed very attentive, and allowed his gaze to linger on Gillian as he settled her on her chair, then poured her a glass of water and handed her a menu with a flourish. Cal felt a flash of irritation mixed with a strange sense of pride; true, they weren't a couple, but she was more _his _than the waiter's, and that was enough to prompt him to smirk slightly at the waiter as he took the menu. He saw Caroline's mouth curl up in a small smile, and wondered if she'd noticed his reaction. Casting his eyes quickly down to the menu, he swallowed at the prices. Bloody hell.

"Tonight's on me, by the way," Caroline said fluidly, and Cal couldn't help wondering if she'd seen the surprise pass over his face as he saw the prices. He had the strange feeling that Caroline saw a lot more than she let on, and the thought intrigued him. Was that where Gillian got her talent from?

"You don't have to do that," he said, but she shook her head firmly.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Cal. You'd be better off not even bothering to argue with me."

He smiled. "Okay. Well, that's very generous. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure."

Gillian watched Cal and her mother, engaging in polite conversation and smiles, and felt a tug of emotion that she couldn't define or justify. _What am I jealous of? _she thought. _That someone can engage in a conversation with my mother without it turning into an argument? That Cal is on her side, when he should be on my side… _But that was ridiculous. _Stop it, Gillian, _she told herself. Cal was on her side, she knew that. Not that she wanted this to be about sides… wasn't the point of this trip to make amends with her mother and sort things out?

She hadn't even realised she'd sighed aloud until Cal asked, "Alright, Foster?"

"Oh. Um, fine." She hastily returned her gaze to the menu, barely registering as her mother beckoned the waiter over and ordered wine for the table.

"The hamachi here is particularly good," Caroline told Cal.

"Is it? That's good. A decent hamachi is hard to find these days," he said, totally deadpan, and Gillian tried to suppress a laugh.

"Cal will want the Lobster Bolognese, Mom," she said.

"Is that so? And what will my daughter be having, Cal?" Amusement laced her voice, and while Gillian found it irritating, Cal found it intriguing.

"I'd say she's torn between the green salad and the mushroom ravioli. Which one will just edge it… hmm. I'll go for the ravioli."

Gillian tried to prevent herself from blushing; she had indeed been debating between the salad and the ravioli, before deciding seconds before that she'd have the ravioli.

"Maybe," she said with a small smile, and Cal grinned at her.

"Fascinating," Caroline said. "Now, entrée… Gillian, I'd guess you're going for the scallops, but I could be wrong… what do you think, Cal?"

"Oh, definitely the scallops," he said.

Gillian felt a dart of annoyance that prompted her to say, "Actually, I'm having the duck." She snapped her menu shut with more force than she'd intended, and the draft made a lock of her hair flutter against her cheek. What was this, anyway? Some kind of competition? See who knows her best? Of course she'd wanted the scallops, but she was damned if she was going to let them see that.

"Game's over then, is it?" Caroline said lightly, continuing to scan her menu. "Well, I just don't know what to have… I was tempted by the lamb, but I think actually I might go for the scallops myself."

Gillian felt a fresh surge of annoyance. Her mother knew that's what she'd wanted, knew she was only choosing the duck to prove her wrong, and now she was going to sit there and eat the scallops in front of her, just to taunt her. She ground her teeth together, then took a sip of wine. As annoyed as she was at her mother, in that moment, she actually felt more annoyed at herself. _I'm getting angry over scallops. Get a grip Gillian!_

She took another sip of wine, grudgingly admitting to herself that it was a good choice. Not that she'd tell her mother that, especially not right now.

"So what'll it be for you, Cal?" Caroline asked.

"Oh, he'll probably have the Dover Sole," Gillian found herself saying. _No he won't, he's having the venison. _She felt like making him think she didn't know him as well as he knew her, although she couldn't properly explain to herself why she felt that need. To piss him off? Why? What's he done wrong? _Don't make an enemy of your friends, Gillian_, she thought, but it was too late, the words were out of her mouth.

"Oh, good choice," Caroline said, but Cal shook his head.

"Tempting as it looks… I'm going for the venison. The sole was a close second though, especially with the gnocchi… I love gnocchi."

No, he didn't. He hated gnocchi, and she knew it. And he knew she knew it. His eyes met hers as he uttered the last statement, and she realised that he knew the game she was playing, knew the lie she'd just told, knew why she'd done it as well. He'd probably understood why even before she did.

"The venison looks good too," she said, giving him a small smile, hoping he'd accept that as an apology.

"It does, doesn't it?" He returned the smile, and she exhaled slightly.

_Just don't let her get to you, and don't, for heaven's sake, take it out on Cal…_

A few moments later the waiter returned and took their orders, and Gillian lifted her glass as soon as he left, choosing to drink some more wine rather than initiate conversation – she wasn't even sure what to say right now. _What kind of person doesn't even know what to say to their own mother?_ Being that person not only irritated her but saddened her, but she realised she didn't know how to fix it.

"So, Cal, tell me about that delightful daughter of yours."

Cal smiled the way he always did when talking about Emily, and launched into a general description of her progress at school, her hobbies, and her latest boyfriend who, naturally, he disapproved of. Gillian was only half listening, but snapped back to attention when Caroline said, "Oh, it's always difficult when your daughter is in a relationship with someone you don't like, trust me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Perhaps it came out as more hostile than it should have done, Gillian reflected, but, honestly – what the hell was her mother's _problem?_

"Alec, darling. I never liked him."

Gillian opened her mouth, then closed it again. Reaching for her wine glass, she noticed it was almost empty. She drained the last few drops, then deftly lifted the bottle and refilled it.

"Why not?" she asked, after swallowing a mouthful of wine.

"Well, he was never good enough for you, for one thing. He worked too much, he never paid you enough attention, never realised what a good thing he had when he had it, and, well… he was a drug addict, darling." She said this in such a matter of fact manner, Gillian honestly didn't know how to respond. A voice in her head was telling her she should be pleased – hadn't her mother just complimented her? _He was never good enough for you _– wasn't that a statement said with love and pride? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. With her mother, you could never really tell.

At that moment their food arrived, and Gillian was suitably distracted for a few minutes as they all started tucking in. The ravioli was delicious, Cal seemed to be enjoying his lobster bolognese, and Caroline was daintily taking mouthfuls of her hamachi.

"So, Cal, tell me about your divorce."

"Mother," Gillian said quietly. What was the word for someone who was as subtle as a brick?

"What? I'm just asking. Of course you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Cal," she said, turning to him, and he smiled at her.

"It's okay. It's been three years now."

"So, you left her? I never thought she was good enough for you, either," she said, taking a bite of her potato blini.

"You never even met Zoe," Gillian reminded her mother, who simply shrugged.

"From what you told me, she wasn't good enough for him."

Gillian's eyes widened slightly, and she quickly looked at Cal. "I never…"

He didn't look annoyed, though – in fact, he looked rather amused.

"She left me, actually. And I wouldn't say she wasn't good enough for me – more, we were… what's the word? Incompatible."

"You can survive a long time in a marriage without being compatible," Caroline said, a dark edge to her voice, and Gillian felt an involuntary shudder run through her body. She took another gulp of wine, realising she'd just polished off her second glass.

"Goodness me, we'll need another bottle already. Waiter!" Caroline called gaily, and pointed to the bottle. "Could we have another? My daughter is trying to drown her despair of having to share the evening with me in wine."

"I am not!" Gillian hissed, blushing furiously. Her mother's innuendos were one thing, but public humiliation was quite another.

"It was just a joke, darling. The waiter knows I'm joking, look, he's laughing."

"_At _me," Gillian said, tightening her grip on her knife.

She saw Cal eyeing her warily, before he smoothly said, "So, Caroline. You're still looking wonderfully fit and healthy I see – jogs along the beach every morning is it?"

"Oh, no, not really. I go to the gym three times a week - my personal trainer André is _marvellous_, if you know what I mean." She winked at Cal, and Gillian tried to swallow the urge to vomit. She'd gone from anger and contempt towards her mother to feeling like a teenager embarrassed by her mother. It reminded her of the time her mother had dropped her off at her friend Rachel's house for a sleepover, and called out to Gillian as she was stepping out of the car, in front of all her friends, "I've got some condoms in my bag, darling, if you want to show them to your friends? I don't know how much you girls know about sex, but it's good to get familiar with these things isn't it?"

Gillian dragged her thoughts back to the present, as her mother rambled on about the tennis club. "It's very _social_," she was saying. "Of course, it _is _about playing tennis, but it's also a great chance to meet people and network."

"Network? Why would you need to network?" Gillian knew it sounded rude, but she honestly didn't care. Her mother was probably going to make a snide comment about her drinking again, but as she topped up her glass from the second bottle the waiter had just brought to their table, Gillian realised she didn't care about that either.

"For my charity work," Caroline replied, not sounding the least bit insulted by her daughter's remark.

_Is it really that easy for her? Like water off a duck's back… is that why she does it to me? Because she doesn't realise that her comments __**do **__hurt me, since nothing seems to affect her…_

"Tell me about that," Cal said, placing his knife and fork neatly together on his empty plate. Gillian leant back a little in her chair, swilling the wine around her glass as her mother started talking endlessly about her wonderful charity work, and some society ball she was organising to raise money for cancer research. Their plates were cleared, their water glasses were refilled, the candle burned a little lower, and her mother eventually stopped when their main courses arrived.

"Ooh, don't these scallops look divine," Caroline said, and Gillian stabbed her duck breast with her fork a little harder than she'd intended.

"I enjoyed your new book by the way, Cal," Caroline said when she'd finished her mouthful, and Gillian quickly swallowed her piece of turnip.

Cal was in the middle of thanking Caroline when Gillian interrupted. "You read Cal's book?"

"Yes, I did. I've got my copy back at the house, perhaps you'd sign it for me while you're here?" she asked Cal, tilting her head to one side, and Gillian jumped as her knife suddenly slid across her plate, making a loud scraping noise.

"Gillian," her mother said, giving her a look of disapproval as though she'd done it on purpose.

"Of course," Cal said, although he was looking carefully at Gillian.

"Have you ever read any of _my _books?" Gillian couldn't help asking. She felt like a petulant child and hated it, but the words came pouring out before she could stop them.

"Yes," her mother said simply, and Gillian couldn't see any hints of deception leakage.

"Is she telling the truth?" she asked Cal suddenly, and he looked at her in surprise. "I've had… a few glasses of wine," she admitted. "And I need the truth. Is she telling me the truth?"

"It's not really my place to say, love," Cal said, sounding a little uncomfortable for the first time that night.

"Which means no," Gillian said, locking her eyes back on her mother's. She saw genuine hurt flash across Caroline's face.

"Incorrect," she said, unable to make her voice as light as it had been for the rest of the evening. "I've read all your books, Gillian. Want me to start quoting them at you? Or perhaps you'd settle for a look around the house later, in my room and the library. There are two copies of all your books. Well worn copies, might I add."

"Two?" Gillian hadn't taken a bite of her food for ages, and seemed to have forgotten that it lay before her.

"Two. Your father left his when he moved out. Not sure why." Gillian gaped at her mother. "Close your mouth, Gillian, you look like you're catching flies." She speared another scallop on her fork.

"Dad… read my books?" She felt emotion wash over her like a tidal wave; the worst part was not being able to separate all the emotions and understand each one. Shock, happiness, sadness, guilt, confusion… and a million other things Gillian didn't even feel she could put into words.

"Yes."

As much as Gillian didn't want to respond with anger – didn't that always seem to be where her mother's comments took her? – she couldn't help it.

"You didn't tell me that."

Caroline sighed. "What did you want me to do? Ring you up and say 'hi, how are you? Oh, by the way, your father's just read your latest book and loved it, what's new in D.C?'"

"I…" Gillian realised she didn't have an answer to that, and perhaps her mother was right. Was it really her job to report to Gillian that her father had read her books? Yet she couldn't help feeling… cheated. That's what it was. All those years of having nothing in common with her father, of trying to avoid him as much as possible, of trying to block out unpleasant memories and just pretend he didn't exist, because that was easier than facing the truth… And all that time, he'd read her books. He'd enjoyed them. Was he proud of her? Why hadn't he told her?

Reluctantly she took another bite of her food, although she felt she'd lost her appetite somewhat.

"It was none of my business, Gillian," Caroline remarked, her voice softening slightly. "You know now. Let that be enough."

Although resentful of her mother dictating how she should deal with this new piece of information, Gillian was tired already of the arguments; the sheer effort of feeling angry with her mother was exhausting her, and after the long day she'd had, it was all too much. The wine probably wasn't helping either, she thought, as she finished off her third glass.

The silence lasted a couple of minutes, with Caroline and Cal finishing off their food. Gillian managed a few more mouthfuls, then scooped up the last piece of red grapefruit before placing her cutlery on the plate.

"That was delicious, Mom," she said, determined to make an effort to be polite and friendly, and a good daughter. _I can do this_, she thought, although her head was starting to swim a little, probably from the wine. It hadn't stopped her pouring a fourth glass for herself, though.

"You're very welcome, darling. It's lovely to have you back here." She sounded so genuine. _So why the hell are things so difficult between us all the time? _It was that confusion that frustrated Gillian more than anything. Why could she and her mother just not get along, like so many other mothers and daughters?

The waiter collected their plates, his eyes wandering over Gillian again. "She's taken," Caroline's voice suddenly barked, and the waiter jumped slightly, almost dropping the plate.

"I… I'm sorry, I…"

"It's alright." Caroline waved her hand. "Perfectly naturally to be attracted to her, she's very beautiful. But her _partner_ here also happens to think that, so best keep your eyes on the plates, yes?" She jerked her head towards Cal, and the waiter nodded sheepishly.

"Yes, m'am. Apologies," he mumbled to Gillian, avoiding her eyes.

Gillian swallowed, embarrassed, and caught Cal's eye. He was grinning at her.

"Shut up," she mouthed, and he gave her an innocent, 'who, me?' look.

"I, on the other hand, _am _single," Caroline said, as the waiter leaned to pick up her plate. "So if you feel like ogling someone at this table…"

"Mom." Gillian felt like banging her head against the table.

"What? Just a bit of harmless flirting!" The waiter scurried away, and Gillian rolled her eyes.

"Well, this was lovely Mom, but let's just get the bill and leave, shall we? I'm very tired."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Gillian! Leave before dessert? I may not have seen you for a few years, but surely you haven't had a complete personality transplant."

Gillian responded by drinking some more wine. If she'd realised she'd have to drink so much to get through the evening she would have drunk a lot more water before she left; she was definitely starting to feel a little fuzzy.

"I'll just go to the bathroom," she mumbled, cursing silently as she stumbled slightly when she stood up. Concentrating hard, she made it across the restaurant without toppling over or, she hoped, swaying too much, and reached the sanctuary of the bathroom in relatively short time. Thankfully the toilets weren't upstairs – she wasn't entirely sure how well she'd manage steps at the moment.

Locking the cubicle door, she sank onto the seat and put her head in her hands. _Another hour, if that. Then you can go home._ She lifted her head quickly as she registered the word that had just passed through her thoughts – home. _It's not home_, she argued. _Not in any sense of the word_. And yet… it had been. For almost two decades, it had been. It was the house she'd grown up in. Wasn't it only natural to refer to it as 'home', at least while she was back in California?

She finished up in the bathroom and washed her hands, staring for a long time at her reflection. Her mascara had smudged slightly, and she wiped under her eye with a tissue. She fumbled in her bag before touching up her makeup, then took a deep breath and pushed open the doors, ready to head back to the restaurant. She almost collided with a waiter – thankfully not the one who'd been serving them – as she walked out, and he was most apologetic.

"No, it's my fault," she mumbled. "I wasn't looking where I was going, sorry…"

She made it back to the table, surprised to see Caroline and Cal laughing at something. She sat down, and Cal's eyes immediately flew to hers, silently asking if she was okay. She gave a brief nod and offered a small smile. The waiter appeared at that moment to present them with the dessert menu, and Gillian took it gratefully. She wasn't sure she'd been entirely in her right mind when she suggested they leave before dessert.

She didn't even read most of the menu as her eyes were immediately drawn to one item in particular. She heard Cal start to chuckle. "Oi, Foster, you seen this?"

She grinned sheepishly. "What's that, Cal? The sorbet, you mean?"

"No I bloody don't." He laughed. "I can't believe there's actually a dessert entitled 'Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate.' Must be made for you."

She laughed. "It does sound good."

"Now, don't even think about having the orange tart or something just to prove my assumptions wrong, will you?" Caroline asked her. "We don't want a repeat of the scallops incident."

"I'd hardly call it an 'incident', Mom." Gillian felt herself flaring up again, and slowly started counting to ten in her head. "The duck was delicious."

"Good."

"Crème brûlée 'Roobios tea infused'?" Cal wrinkled his nose as he continued reading. "What's wrong with regular crème brûlée?"

Gillian laughed. She hadn't done much of that this evening, and it felt good. "You won't like it," she told him.

"Probably right, doesn't sound like my cup of tea," he quipped, and she rolled her eyes, although she continued to grin at him. "What shall I have, then?"

"Well, you'd like the passion fruit parfait, if it weren't for the lemongrass…"

"Damn straight, just what I was thinking," he said, continuing to peruse the menu. Caroline looked back and forth between the two of them, smiling slyly. "I probably can't go wrong with the…"

"… apple tart," Gillian finished. "Yeah, you'll like that."

"That's sorted then." He snapped his menu shut. "What'll it be, Caroline?"

"Mom doesn't eat dessert," Gillian told him.

"Sticky toffee pudding," Caroline announced, and Gillian turned to her in surprise.

"What?"

"Sticky toffee pudding," Caroline repeated.

"But…"

"But what? I don't usually eat desserts? That's true. Not _never_, though. And this is a special occasion, isn't it? Having my daughter back home, if only for a little while."

"I'm back because Dad's dead. Hey, let's break out the champagne!" Gillian said sarcastically. She wasn't sure she would have said that if she hadn't drunk quite so much, but that seemed irrelevant, she'd said it now.

"I hardly think that's a good idea, you've drunk enough tonight haven't you?" Caroline said pointedly.

"And why's that I wonder?"

"So," Cal jumped in. "It was really nice of you to bring us here, Caroline, and to pay for this delicious meal. But we're all tired and emotional; let's not ruin the evening by saying things we don't mean in the heat of the moment."

"Very diplomatic, Cal," Gillian told him. "But I meant everything I've said tonight. And so does she."

"Oh, 'she', now, is it? Distancing language," Caroline said, and Gillian sucked in her breath.

The waiter appeared, but seemed to sense the tension as he hovered awkwardly near their table. "Er… are you ready to order?" he asked at last, and Caroline nodded curtly.

"Yes, we are, thank you. I'll have the sticky toffee pudding, thanks."

"Certainly, m'am. And for you?" he asked Gillian, biting his lip slightly, no doubt hoping he wouldn't be accused of ogling her again.

"Chocolate chocolate chocolate, please," Gillian said, almost in a whisper. Guilt was starting to creep in, but the anger was still there, simmering away. She'd give anything for it to be different between her and her mother, but how do you change something that's been the same way for so long?

"Excellent choice," he said, before turning to Cal, who ordered the apple tart. When the waiter had gone, silence once again fell over the three as Gillian finished her glass of wine, wishing for the first time she hadn't had quite so much tonight.

"Does she still eat those ghastly chocolate puddings all the time?" Caroline asked Cal.

_One… two… three…_

"Yep. All the time." He grinned, flicking his gaze to Gillian, and she stopped at number five. His smile seemed to ease the tension effortlessly; no doubt she'd feel a resurgence of anger as soon as her mother opened her mouth again, but for now, she was appeased.

"Oh, she ate so much chocolate as a child, I can't begin to tell you. How she's not morbidly obese I've never understood. If I ate as much as her I'd be the size of a house, but Gillian was always so lucky with her figure."

Now mildly embarrassed, Gillian took a swig of water, hoping it would start to reverse the effects of drinking nearly a bottle and a half of wine.

"I'll never forget her eighth birthday…" Caroline began, and Gillian groaned.

"Mom, please."

Cal grinned. Although he knew Gillian was uncomfortable with her mother's frequent recounts of childhood stories, he was secretly loving the chance to hear what she'd been like as a child.

"What did she do?"

Gillian took another gulp of water. As embarrassed as she was, part of her felt pleased that her mother was sharing childhood stories about her. _What the hell? _she thought, more confused than ever. _Either it drives you crazy, or you don't mind. Which is it? _The truth was, as irritating as it could be, for a mother to tell mildly embarrassing stories about her child seemed so _normal_. More normal than wrapping insults up in sweetness and light, than hiding your divorce from your own offspring, than not seeming to care one iota that the man you'd spent almost your entire life loving was lying in a morgue somewhere.

For a few moments, maybe she could pretend to be just an ordinary woman, having dinner with her mother, rolling her eyes at her mother's tales, but secretly pleased that she recalled these facts, that her childhood was imprinted in her mother's memory. God knows, her father wouldn't have been able to recall anything from that day – he was passed out in his study for the duration of the party.

"We had a chocolate cake – enormous, it was," Caroline continued while Cal listened, enthralled. "Covered in chocolate icing with 'Happy Birthday' and a big number 8 in chocolate buttons. Anyway, I'd got it out the fridge and set it on the unit in the kitchen, then gone back outside to continue the games. We started 'musical statues', and Gillian was usually so good at that, but she got caught out first – wobbling all over the place, she was."

Gillian placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, closing her eyes as she remembered that day.

"So, she went into the house, looking all sulky. I decided to just leave her – not let her being a sore loser spoil the fun for the rest of us!"

Cal grinned. "And she went into the kitchen…?"

"Oh yes. When the game had finished and she hadn't reappeared, I decided to go looking for her, tell her we were ready to start pass the parcel. I found her in the kitchen, sitting on one of the breakfast stools, shovelling the cake into her mouth."

Cal's entire body was shaking with laughter.

"Half the cake she'd eaten, in about five minutes," Caroline recalled.

"It was not half!" Gillian piped up. "It was… a third, maybe."

"It was at least half," Caroline told her. "She hadn't used cutlery either – she'd just dived in there. Her hands and face were covered in chocolate icing, the cake looked a complete mess, and she had the biggest grin on her face I've ever seen."

"That must have been a picture." Cal grinned at Gillian.

"Oh, it was… I mean, it _is_." Caroline winked at her daughter, who groaned.

"No, Mom…"

"Oh yes." She nodded. "When we get home, I think Cal needs to see that picture. It was just the most perfect time to break the camera out, you know?"

"I definitely need to see that." Cal laughed. "Hopefully you won't make quite as much mess with your dessert tonight, eh Foster?"

"Ha ha." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Chocolate chocolate chocolate?" came a voice, and Caroline pointed at her daughter. As the waiter placed it in front of her, Gillian sucked in her breath. The most perfect chocolate soufflé sat on her plate, besides other chocolate infused desserts that she would quite happily dive into, given the chance. Grabbing her spoon, she plunged it into the one closest to her, tasting peanut butter which crunched delightfully in her mouth. Quickly swinging her spoon towards a glass, she delved into what looked like a cup of coffee. It was indeed a thick and luxurious coffee and chocolate mousse, and she tried to savour the taste as much as she could, but she was too impatient. There were two more desserts on her plate begging to be devoured, and the next mouthful provided her with a delicious taste of mascarpone. Then, to taste the final one; the soufflé. Gillian adored soufflés, and this one looked utterly perfect. She slid her spoon slowly into the pudding. Parting her lips, she slid the spoon in, licking it furiously before slowly pulling it out of her mouth. Heaven. Pure heaven.

Caroline idly took a bite of her sticky toffee pudding as she switched her gaze from her daughter to Cal, whose dessert sat untouched before him, his eyes glued to Gillian. Sensing her eyes on him, Cal looked up, gave Caroline a quick smile before picking up his fork and scooping up a piece of his apple tart.

"Mmm," Gillian said as she swallowed the last of her mouthful.

"How is it?" Caroline asked her, raising one eyebrow a fraction.

"Mmm. Culinary orgasm," Gillian replied, feeling her cheeks flush and regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth. You just didn't say words like orgasm in front of your mother, did you? But she'd heard the phrase before in reference to a dish, and since that's what she was experiencing right now, it had just popped out.

"Really?" Caroline smirked at her daughter. "Interesting." She looked back at Cal quizzically. "Would you say the same about yours, Cal?"

"Well, it's good," he said, swallowing hastily. "I'm not sure it's orgasmically good though." He grinned at Gillian.

"That's not even a word!" She was slurring her words a little now, and quickly tried to compose herself. "I… it's very good," she mumbled, taking another mouthful.

Cal laughed softly. "Glad to hear it."

She took another bite of her soufflé, trying not to enjoy it in such an obvious way. _Clear your head, Gillian, _she told herself. But it was too delicious, and she couldn't hold back a slight whimper when she finished her final bite.

Fifteen minutes later, her mother had paid the bill, and Gillian had managed to thank her and actually mean it, prompting Caroline to say, "Ah, the power of chocolate. If they'd had a chocolate starter, we might not have had all that tension during dinner, hm?" which had caused Gillian to scowl, until she caught Cal's eye.

Rearranging her face into a smile, she said, "Well, dinner was fantastic, Mom. Thanks again. I am tired though, so… shall we go?"

"Absolutely, must get you two to bed, you must be exhausted."

They rose from the table, and were helped into their coats before being wished a good evening as they exited the restaurant. The cool night air instantly help Gillian feel a little more sober – her mind flashed back to her vocal enjoyment of her dessert and her description of it as 'culinary orgasm', and she blushed anew.

Cal placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him as Caroline headed towards the taxi rank to find them a ride home. "Well done, love," he murmured in her ear.

"What do you mean, well done? I was awful!" Gillian moaned quietly, and he laughed.

"I think you were bloody brilliant," he said, and she raised an eyebrow at him. His face was blank and unreadable, however, and even her questioning gaze wasn't enough to make him reveal any more.

"Over here, kids!" came Caroline's voice, waving them towards the taxi. Gillian headed in the direction of the car, Cal's arm still around her. _I don't really need it_, she thought, thinking how much steadier she felt on her feet since leaving the restaurant. _Not that I'm complaining. _Cal's presence was a comfort, and as she thought back to the evening and the days that were to come, it also seemed like a necessity. _Perhaps I do need him_, she thought, climbing into the car. As he sat beside her and shut the door, she squeezed his hand gratefully, and he gave her a warm smile. _However bad things get over the next few days… I can do this. _

"Make sure you drink some water when we get back, Gillian, or you'll have a terrible hangover tomorrow!" Caroline trilled, and Gillian felt her eyes narrow. Okay, so she might have Cal to support her. _But even he can't work miracles_, she thought ruefully as she leant her head back and closed her eyes. She was almost tempted not to drink any water, just to spite her mother, but as she remembered the amount of wine she'd drunk, Gillian thought that perhaps that wasn't the best idea.

…

…

A/N Melisse is a real restaurant in Santa Monica, and 'Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate' really is one of their desserts. All the food Cal, Gillian and Caroline ate in this chapter is taken from their menu. I don't own anything to do with Melisse either, by the way ;-)


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Not mine at all**

Chapter Nine

Gillian cursed quietly when she stumbled slightly on the step. She didn't need to look at her mother to sense her smirk, although to her credit, Caroline remained silent. Cal's arm was on hers instantly, steadying her without it seeming like he was supporting her. Once inside the front door, Gillian quickly said her goodnights and walked, in as straight a line as she could, to the stairs.

"Oh, don't you want to see that photo, darling? Of you with your mouth covered with icing?"

"Not really, Mom, no," Gillian told her wearily. "Goodnight."

As soon as she had disappeared from view, Caroline turned to Cal with a mischievous expression. He laughed. "Go on, then."

He followed her into the living room, and she flicked on the lights as she went in. Crossing straight to the large cabinet, she pulled out a purple photo album and carried it carefully back to the sofa, then patted the space beside her. Cal sat down, and she opened the album, a gleeful look on her face.

"Oh, look at this," she said, gazing at the first photo. She shifted the album so Cal had a better view, and he laughed at the sight of a child of about three, with tight ringlets and bright blue eyes. "She was a beautiful child," Caroline sighed, then quickly started flicking through the pages. Cal caught glimpses of young Gillian, occasionally another child who he presumed was Stephen, and a couple of shots of Caroline herself with one of the children.

Every so often Caroline would pause on a certain photo, her eyes glazing over slightly as she lightly ran her fingers over the image of her children. There weren't any photos of Gillian's father in the photos, Cal noticed, but he didn't mention it.

"Ah!" Caroline had found what she was looking for, and triumphantly thrust the photo album towards Cal.

He laughed out loud at the picture of Gillian on her birthday, hair plastered to her face with icing, chocolate around her mouth, on her nose, cheeks and chin, and all over her hands. She was looking at the camera with a wicked glint in her eye and a hint of a smile, not looking sorry about what she'd done, only slightly sorry that she'd been caught.

"Fantastic," he said, grinning at the picture. He glanced up to see Caroline gazing at him intently.

"Are you in love with my daughter?" It sounded more like a statement than a question; she could have just reversed the first two words of that sentence, Cal thought, and she would have conveyed the same meaning.

He hesitated before trying to wrap his mouth around some sort of answer. "She means a lot to me," he said at last. "We've been friends a long time."

She nodded, and for a moment didn't say anything else, which surprised him. He'd expected her to make some comment about how he was deflecting and hadn't properly answered the question. Instead she said, "You're so much better for her than Alec ever was."

Cal shook his head. "You don't know some of the crap I've put your daughter through."

"Did you ever cheat on her? Lie about where you were going so you could go somewhere and get high? Refuse to talk about how you felt when your child was taken away, leaving her to deal with it by herself? Use work as an excuse not to spend time with her or give her the support she needed?"

"No."

"There you go then."

"But I did antagonise a rapist who sent his copycat after her, almost got myself shot in front of her, nearly got myself killed again when I tried to help an old criminal friend, then yet again when I went to Afghanistan and nearly got myself blown up, jeopardised the financial future of our company by taking out a loan to buy out my ex-wife, and lost a million dollars our company desperately needed at the roulette wheel."

She laughed. "And yet, here you are. And Alec isn't. Doesn't that tell you something?"

Her eyes were shining in exactly the same way Gillian's did when she was fired up about something – whether she was angry, emotional, or just invested in a case. Cal gave her a small smile. "It's late, and it's been a long day. I think it's time I turned in."

She nodded. "Get some rest. Help yourself to anything you need in the house."

"Thanks."

After a moment's silence, he gave her a quick smile before standing up and heading out the door. Halfway up the stairs he glanced back into the living room, just able to crane his head round enough to see that Caroline was still sitting on the sofa, the photo album on her lap. He continued up the stairs, pausing briefly outside Gillian's door, before pushing open the door to his room. With Stephen's imminent arrival, Caroline and her daughter still under the same roof and a hungover Foster, Cal had a feeling he was going to need a good night's sleep before tomorrow.

###

It seemed like she had no sooner closed her eyes than she was opening them again. The sunlight was pouring in through the curtains, but while Gillian had once loved being woken up by natural light flooding her room, this morning it felt like an invasion. Lifting her head slightly, she let out a small groan when she felt the room start to spin. Recalling the two bottles of wine that had been served to them at dinner last night – and how Cal and her mother seemed to have had not much more than a glass each – she felt her face flush with embarrassment. Odd moments of the evening flashed through her mind; her mother flirting with the waiter, their petty arguments over what food they were ordering, that chocolate dessert, being told that her father had read her books…

Gillian laid her head back on the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn't know what time it was, had no idea how long she'd slept, but it didn't feel like enough. After a few moments of blissful silence she heard her mother's voice, sounding more shrill than usual. _But perhaps that's just because I'm hungover,_ she reflected.

"Gillian!" She just wanted to hide under her pillow, but forced herself to open her mouth when her mother shouted again, knowing she'd just keep calling her name until she answered.

"Yes," she called, her voice sounding crackly, her tongue feeling as though it were made of sandpaper.

"Hurry up and get dressed, your brother's here."

###

It was forty minutes before Gillian was ready to go downstairs; she knew her mother was going to make some comment about that, but it had taken that long for her to feel human again. After a long hot shower, she'd washed and dried her hair, put on clean clothes, applied a little makeup and drunk almost a litre of water. She ran her fingers through her hair as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't look _too _bad – at least not as bad as she had when she'd first woken up.

As she reached for the door handle, Gillian wondered briefly where Cal was. Presumably he'd been up for hours; she'd checked the clock just after her mother called her – quarter past ten. Of course, now it was nearly eleven. Gillian was embarrassed that she was up so late, but tried to push that aside as she walked down the corridor. She hadn't seen anyone else this morning, although she'd only left her room to go to the bathroom, which was right next door. She couldn't hear voices, which surprised her at first – she would have thought she'd hear the kids. But then, she thought, it was a lovely day – the kids were probably playing outside, or Stephen and Helen might have taken them to the beach. Would they really want to spend a lovely sun-drenched Saturday morning stuck in the house waiting for their aunt to make herself look presentable?

There was no one in the living room, so Gillian continued her quiet exploration as she headed into the kitchen. "Stephen?" she called.

"Hey!" His hands were on her shoulders and his voice rang loudly in her ears as she jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"You scared me!" she said accusingly as she turned around, but her brother just laughed as he pulled her to him for a brief hug, then playfully ruffled her hair.

"Such a wimp, little sister, such a wimp."

She put a hand to her temple, and his eyes gleamed. "Bit hungover today, are we?"

"No." She pulled the fridge door open, intending to have some orange juice, before deciding coffee was a better option.

"Yeah right." He laughed again. "Dinner with Mom was fun last night then?"

"It was fine," she lied, flicking the switch on the kettle. "Speaking of Mom, where is she? And where are my niece and nephew?"

He turned his head away from her quickly. "Boston."

"What?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "What about Helen?"

"Boston."

"But…"

"They're busy, Gill. Helen's working, and the kids have school on Monday. Besides, it's not like they were that close to their grandfather, you know?"

"I know, but…" She frowned slightly. Perhaps she'd been presumptuous when she thought that Helen and the kids were coming with Stephen, but they were a family, and, even if they hadn't been that close, Stephen _had _just lost his father. Shouldn't his wife be here to support him?

"Enough of that," he warned her.

"What?"

"Judging me. Or rather, judging Helen."

"I'm just disappointed I won't see the kids, that's all."

His expression softened. "Yeah, I know. You'll have to swing by some time. They'd love to see you again."

"How are they?"

"Growing." He grinned. "Sam's on the school football team. He's rubbish, but I cheer hard and pretend he's great."

"Stephen!" She couldn't help laughing.

"And Katie has a crush on a boy at school." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "She's _far _too young for that sort of thing. She still sucks her thumb at night!"

She laughed again, even though it was making her head feel even fuzzier. "She's eight years old, she's bound to start getting curious about boys."

"I didn't notice girls until I was about thirteen," he said, causing Gillian to raise her eyebrows.

"Oh yeah? Does the name Sandra Billsworth mean anything to you?" she teased.

"Er…" He grinned. "Okay. Point taken. But that was me, not my daughter. She's too young for such things."

Gillian pulled a mug out of the cupboard. "Want some coffee?"

"Sure."

"So, where is Mom? And Cal?"

"Garden."

She nodded, and continued making the coffee as they lapsed into a comfortable silence. The funny thing about siblings, Gillian thought as she pulled the carton of milk out of the fridge, was how easily your mood could change when you were with them, and how quickly you could became a different version of yourself. When they were joking around and teasing each other, the mood could be playful, their tones light, their smiles genuine. It was like reverting to your childhood, messing around with your brother. But Gillian knew how quickly an argument could start, how quickly they could become irritated and infuriated with each other. _That's families for you_, she thought as she passed him a mug of coffee. Throw her mother into the mix as well, and Gillian wasn't sure which way the wind was going to blow.

Just as she was about to ask Stephen how long after the funeral he was staying, he beat her to breaking the silence.

"So, how's life as a divorcee?"

"It's… okay." _What kind of answer was he expecting to that? _She took a sip of her coffee, wincing slightly at the pulsing in her brain that only seemed to be amplified by the sudden injection of caffeine into her system.

"Dating anyone else?"

"I've been divorced a matter of months, Stephen."

"Is that a no? Or a 'I'm not going to tell you'?"

She rolled her eyes as she sat down at the breakfast bar. He pulled a stool out too, sitting on it backwards.

"It's nice that Cal's here to support you."

She took another sip of her coffee. _He's just like Mom sometimes_, she thought, shaking her head slightly.

As if on cue, Gillian heard the back door open, followed by her mother calling, "Stephen! What are you doing? Come back outside… is there any sign of Gillian yet?"

She stopped when she entered the kitchen, and Gillian pulled her cup towards her quickly, thinking that if she had another swig of coffee, she could put off having to talk to her mother for a few more seconds. _Which is totally ridiculous_, she thought to herself. _Grow up, Gillian_. Her movement was too quick, however, and instead of simply drawing the cup to her lips, she sloshed hot coffee all over her lap.

"Oh Gillian!" her mother exclaimed. She sounded as if she were scolding a three year old, and Gillian instantly bristled.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she said crossly. "I'll clean it up."

"I hope you brought lots of clothes, the rate you're going through them," her mother observed.

Gillian hopped off the bar stool to get a cloth, and felt her legs wobble slightly. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself, suddenly feeling as though she were going to be sick.

"I'll do it." Caroline was at her side, reaching for a cloth, but Gillian snatched it from her hands.

"It's fine, I can do it."

"Gillian, darling, you look like you're going to be sick. Have you taken some aspirin? Drunk some water? What about a nice fry-up, they're a good cure for hangovers!"

"Is that why you cooked them for Dad every day?" she asked bitterly, regretting the words as she watched a cloud pass over her mother's face.

"That was unnecessary, Gillian," her mother said coldly. She snatched the cloth back. "I'll clear up this coffee. Go and change."

Gillian turned, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes. Was this what it was going to be like for the next four days? Why did she ever think it was a good idea to fly straight home when she heard the news? Why didn't she just arrive on Monday night, go to the funeral on Tuesday, and then leave?

"Nice one, sis," Stephen muttered as she walked past him, and she felt fresh anger rise up inside her.

"Taking her side then, are you?"

"Whoever said anything about sides?" he asked, at the same time that Caroline said, "Leave your brother out of this, Gillian."

She shook her head, turning back to glance briefly at her mother. As she did, she saw Cal standing in the doorway behind her. He had an unreadable expression on his face, but Gillian would have bet money (were she the betting kind) that he was less than impressed with her little outburst, and her attitude towards her mother.

_So am I_, she thought as she wordlessly left the room and walked back up the stairs. Reaching her room, she pulled off her coffee stained jeans and tossed them into a pile on the floor, then crawled into bed in just her underwear and white blouse, pulling the covers up to her chin. _Sort yourself out, Gillian_, she told herself firmly, but that was far easier said than done. Yes, her mother had irritated her this morning, but did she deserve to have that comment about her husband's alcoholism thrown at her like that? No. Gillian sighed, turning over in bed and curling up into the foetal position. She hated the person she became when she was around her parents, and, she suddenly realised, what was really worrying her was that Cal would start to hate that person too.

A sudden knock on the door caused her to open her eyes. _Mom, or Stephen? _she thought, deciding it was probably the former.

"Yes?" she called, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible.

"Can I come in, love?"

She smiled. "Yes," she called back, before she remembered that she was half naked under the covers.

The door opened, and Cal came in, shooting her a quick grin when he saw her curled up in bed, although she could see the concern hidden under the smile.

"Alright there, love?"

"Fantastic," she mumbled.

He ignored the jeans screwed up on the floor, and quietly closed the door before walking towards the bed and sitting on the edge of it. "You put on quite a show just now." He saw the shame on her face, and reached up to gently brush a lock of hair off her face. "Hey. Don't feel like that."

"Why not? I was horrible to my mother. Again."

"Your Mum's not exactly the easiest person in the world to deal with. And you're stressed, and emotional. It's a difficult time for you all. Only natural that things get a bit heated sometimes."

"Things were supposed to get better once Stephen arrived. I thought Mom would back off for a bit, and I could spend some time with Stephen and the kids, but they're not even here!" She sniffed.

"I know, love. But Stephen is – and you two can still find some time to catch up, can't you? A bit of brother and sister time might do you both some good."

"Are you volunteering to take my mother off our hands for a while?" she asked, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

Cal laughed. "Er… sort of walked into that one, didn't I?"

She laughed softly, then sighed. "I'll be alright. I just… I hate that you saw me like that. Being so…"

"Bitchy?" he supplied, and she raised her eyebrows. "Aggressive?" he quickly amended.

"No, you were probably closer to the mark with the first one." She leant her head against his shoulder, still wrapped up under the sheets.

"Nah, you weren't being bitchy. I don't think you could ever be bitchy." He met her eyes and smiled, and she slowly smiled back.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered.

He wrapped an arm around her and lightly kissed her forehead. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

"Then you must be crazy," she giggled, and he laughed.

"Come on, love. What do you say we get out of here for a bit? We'll say we've got some errands to run or something. We could go for a walk, do a bit of sightseeing, or just go to the beach?"

She nodded. As much as it seemed like running away, leaving the house right now was probably the best option – perhaps after a walk along the beach she'd feel better, and when she and her mother had both calmed down, she'd actually be able to spend some time with her family without some kind of argument blowing up. Plus, the sea air was probably good for a hangover. "Okay."

"Let's go then." He stood up.

"Er… can you wait for me outside?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow in question, and she bit her lip. "I'm sort of… half undressed."

He laughed. "Right you are then, love. I'll be in my room. Just give me a knock when you're done, okay?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Cal."

He swung the door open and left, closing it gently behind him.

Gillian threw back the covers, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed and standing up. Getting up was definitely much easier than it had been an hour ago, she noted. She pulled a blue skirt from her wardrobe and tugged it on, then quickly gathered her things up in her handbag. _I'll just go out for a little while_, she reasoned with the voice in her head that was calling her a coward. _Then when I come back, I'll feel better. I'll be nicer to Mom, I promise. I won't let her rattle me. Much. And I'll catch up with Stephen. And it'll all be fine. _

Giving her reflection a brief nod, she opened the door. Whether she'd be able to keep the silent promise she'd just made herself she had no idea, but it didn't hurt to try and be optimistic, did it? She knocked on Cal's door, and a minute later they were walking down the stairs.

"We're just popping out for a bit, Caroline," he called, and Gillian shot him a look of gratitude for informing her mother of their plans.

"Right then," Cal said once they were out of the house. "Where to first, love?"


	10. Chapter 10

I dedicate this chapter to Team Awesome and all the LTM fans I have 'betweeted' on Twitter :-]

**Disclaimer: Same as always, don't own any of it**

Chapter Ten

"Anywhere." Gillian giggled as she ran down the driveway, increasing her speed the further she went.

"Oi! Hold up love!" Cal trotted after her.

She waited a little way down the road, pulling her sunglasses out of her bag and quickly putting them on. Not only was the sun bright, but she was still feeling a little hungover – the dark shades, she hoped, would help. Already, though, she was feeling better, just being away from the house. She felt the familiar stab of guilt she always used to get when escaping from home - the exhilaration of freedom, followed by the sadness and shame that she should feel such happiness at getting away from her family.

Cal grinned at her as he reached her side. "Feeling better, then?"

"A bit." She returned the smile. "I can't deny I'm still a bit hungover, but the sun is shining, I'm away from my mother…" She sucked in her breath suddenly. "God, that's depressing. What kind of person feels happy when they get _away _from their mother? It's supposed to be the other way around."

"Tell you what, Foster. How about we spend the next couple of hours _not _talking about your mother?"

"Deal." She looped her arm through his as she tugged him along the road with her.

"So, where are you taking me then, Californian girl?"

She grinned. "Well, I could take you shopping on Rodeo Drive…" She laughed out loud as he pulled a face at her. "But how about the walk of fame instead? Then we can get some lunch, maybe go to the beach this afternoon…"

"Sounds perfect, love," he said softly as they continued walking along the street. "Just perfect."

###

As the morning slid into afternoon and the Californian sun continued to burn brightly, Cal watched Gillian oscillate between happiness and sorrow, bouncing between the two with such unpredictability it made his head spin.

They carefully avoided the subject of her mother – or father, for that matter – choosing instead to talk about meaningless things, observations of people around them ("Does anyone in Hollywood ever tell the truth?" Cal had asked incredulously as they spotted yet more liars), and to simply enjoy each other's company. Gillian's hangover was waning, she seemed relaxed and confident most of the time, and giggled as she ran along the Hollywood walk of fame, spotting various stars and trying to remember whose was next to whose. They had lunch in a diner Gillian told him she used to frequent with her friends after school that she swore hadn't been decorated since then, and insisted on taking a photo of Cal with a man dressed as Superman outside Gap, despite his grunting protests.

But every so often, a dark cloud would pass over her face; the exact nature of her thoughts Cal didn't know, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask if she didn't want to tell, but the sadness was there, and the guilt he hated seeing so much. Guilt for the way she had treated her mother was probably part of it, but Cal couldn't forget the conversation they'd had in his office when she first told him her father had died. He'd called her, in the weeks before he'd died, and she had ignored his messages. How that guilt could be erased Cal didn't know, but he sure as hell knew about guilt.

He watched as she went from animatedly describing her evenings as a teenager spent at Lulu's Diner to swirling the straw around in her milkshake with a hollow, empty look in her eyes. He saw the way her face would light up as she saw children skipping along the street, squealing in delight at the various costumed characters they saw, and how the light in her eyes then dimmed if she saw a man with the children – a father, taking his kids on a day out.

Her grief was complex, he knew that, and to be honest he didn't really know how to help her. He'd lost his mother, but she was someone he'd adored. How did you cope with losing someone you had walked away from a long time ago?

For the most part, though, she seemed fairly relaxed and happy – certainly more so than she had been in the last twenty four hours. Cal was more than happy to keep her company, however she chose to spend the day, and found he was actually starting to enjoy some of the touristy things she decided they should do.

There was no mention of her mother, or when they would return home; he would let her dictate when it was time to return. Eventually, she took a deep breath and turned to look at him, and he smiled. "Time to go?"

She nodded, smiling at him in return. The thought of heading back to the house for another encounter with her mother was causing her stomach to twist in knots, but the fact that she didn't even have to tell Cal what she was thinking was an instant source of comfort. No matter how confusing and complicated and difficult things got, Cal was her constant, her anchor. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to show him just how much that meant to her.

Her smile was one of gratitude, but laced with just enough sadness for him to know that her pain hadn't entirely been healed by a day of traipsing round Hollywood – it would be foolish to think it could be. There was something else in her smile though, and as they got nearer the house, he saw more confidence in her stride.

"Alright, love?" he asked as they started walking up the drive.

She nodded. "I've got a lot… going on…" She gestured at her head with a twirling finger. "You know."

He nodded. "Sure."

"And yes, I do feel… trepidation, about walking through that front door. Which is completely ridiculous." She flashed anger briefly, which Cal knew was for herself. "But you know what?" She took a deep breath. "I'm not going to let her get to me anymore, Cal. I feel better now, I'm relaxed… I'm going to go in there and be strong, and be polite, and if all else fails, bite my lip until it bleeds, but I will not retaliate or make the situation worse."

"That's my girl." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Did your Mum give you a key?"

"No, but I know where she keeps the spare." She lifted up the plant pot, third from the left, and stared in confusion at the empty space. "It's not there."

"Maybe it's under a different one," he suggested casually, but Gillian shook her head fiercely.

"It's always here. Under this pot. Always."

Her lower lip was trembling and she felt like she was on the verge of tears – _God, Gillian, why are you being so stupid? _she silently screamed at herself. _It's a key. Does it really matter if your mother doesn't keep it in the same place anymore?_ Yes. It did matter. But she couldn't quite put into words why.

"Why don't you just ring the bell?" he asked softly, and she nodded, reaching out to press the button a little harder than was necessary.

A minute later Caroline opened the door, smiling widely. Gillian stiffened, bracing herself for the inevitable sweetly worded jabs, but none came.

"Hello darling. Did you have a fun day?"

"Where's the spare key?"

She followed her mother as she breezed into the house, not wanting to initiate another argument, but sensing one might be just around the corner.

"What's that?" Caroline called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the living room.

Cal touched Gillian's arm briefly. "I'm going to go and call Emily, but holler if you need me, yeah?"

"Okay." She forced a smile and watched him walk up the stairs before heading into the living room. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she was surprised to see that it was already nearly four thirty. Was her mother annoyed that she'd spent most of the day away from her? Did she think it was rude to arrive back home to see your family and then disappear?

_If she does, she'll soon let me know,_ Gillian thought, realising she was clenching her jaw and quickly tried to rearrange her face into a relaxed smile.

"Mom." She walked through the living room into the kitchen, where her mother was drinking a glass of water. "Where's the spare key? It wasn't under the pot."

"I don't keep it there anymore." She took another sip of water. "Do you want a drink? How's the hangover?"

"I'm fine," Gillian replied shortly. "I just don't understand… they key has always been under the pot." She couldn't explain why it was upsetting her so much that the key had moved. _Why am I being so irrational? _She gulped back fresh tears as her mother gestured towards the bar stool.

"Sit down."

She sat, crossing her legs and folding her arms in front of her, her fingers tightly woven together.

Caroline pulled up a stool, and for a moment simply looked at her daughter. "I removed the key when your father moved out. He knew where it was kept; I didn't want him having free access to my house whenever he wanted, not once it had become 'my' house instead of 'ours'.

Gillian lifted her gaze to her mother's; bright blue locked on bright blue. She swallowed. "I get that."

"There was always the possibility that he'd fall off the wagon, come calling late at night, more than a little worse for wear…"

Gillian nodded. "It was a sensible thing to do. I'm sorry I… overreacted. I don't know why I…"

"Because things are different, Gillian," her mother said simply. "Because you walked back through the front door thinking everything was going to go back to the way it was when you were eighteen. And you probably didn't want it to be that way – you practically sprinted out the door the day you left home – but isn't there a part of you, however small, that feels comforted by knowing the routines of home? You grew up in this house; there were some good times, weren't there? Some good memories to hold onto? You want to draw some comfort from that, convince yourself that you still have a home here, that you haven't completely walked away from your old life."

Gillian detected hope in her voice, and felt a pang of guilt for ever making her mother feel that her childhood had been nothing but miserable.

"Of course there were some good times, Mom," she said, her voice wavering with emotion. "And I guess you're right. I wanted to know some things were still the same."

Caroline nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. They sat in silence for a few moments, although Gillian couldn't quite discern whether it was a comfortable silence or not. There were a thousand questions swirling around her head, but in the last few minutes she and her mother had come closer to a proper, honest conversation since she'd arrived yesterday - it was probably the closest they'd come to a proper, honest conversation in several years – and Gillian was loathe to say anything that would break the fragile spell.

She opened her mouth to speak, although which word would spill first from her lips she wasn't sure, when her mother suddenly pushed the stool back with a loud scrape and stood up.

"Well, I'm off. I've got a few engagements tonight, not sure when I'll be back, so don't wait up!"

Gillian swallowed, forcing her mouth to twist into a smile even when she could feel its natural impulse to downturn with sadness. "Okay. Have fun."

"You too!" Caroline winked at her daughter. "There's plenty of food in the fridge, help yourself to anything. Unless you're going out, of course. But if you want to stay in, I'm sure you and Cal could find something to do to amuse yourselves."

Gillian managed to resist the temptation to roll her eyes – just barely – and instead asked, "What about Stephen? Isn't he around tonight?"

"He's gone back to the hotel. I'm not entirely sure why he came back today, to be honest with you, but then I was surprised you came back so quickly as well."

"Of course I came back," Gillian said quietly. "I couldn't just…"

"I know." Her mother's voice was surprisingly soft. "I know."

There it was; another glimpse of the mother she wanted, the mother that appeared fleetingly in her life before vanishing behind false cheer and a sharp tongue and a mask that she used to hide herself from everyone, including her daughter. And then she was gone, walking out the door with a casual, "Have a good evening!", leaving a trail of perfume and, as she so often had before, a sense of dissatisfaction and frustration in her daughter.

###

Cal approached the kitchen slowly, reluctant to disturb Gillian if she was sharing a private moment with her mother. The silence indicated they were not having a conversation, so he continued walking into the kitchen, noticing Gillian sitting at the breakfast bar. She was slumped over slightly; not a good sign. He was the one with the bad posture, hers was usually impeccable.

"Your Mum and Stephen not around, love?"

She looked up at him, smiling as he entered, although it didn't quite reach her eyes. "She's gone out. Stephen's at his hotel."

He nodded. "So, do you want to go out for dinner tonight?"

She bit her lip and averted her gaze, and he read the apprehension and guilt on her face. "It's alright, love. I don't mind spending the evening on my own."

Her eyes flew to his. "I didn't…"

"You didn't have to say anything, love." He smiled at her. "You want to go and see Stephen. And you should."

"You're really okay with this?" she asked doubtfully. "I feel bad, just abandoning you for the evening, when you came out here with me, and you didn't have to, and…"

"Foster." He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face towards him. "I came to California with you to support you – what kind of selfish bugger would I be if I insisted you spend the evening with me instead of your family?"

She smiled. "But…"

"No buts," he said firmly. "You see me all the time back home, how often do you get to see your brother? Besides – I have a feeling you two have plenty to talk about."

She nodded. "Did he say anything to you this morning? You saw him before I did…"

"Just small talk."

"You're lying," she said softly.

He shook his head. "He didn't say anything to me, love, other than a bit of idle chit chat. I promise."

She looked at him intently. "He didn't say anything… but you saw something."

"Foster, if reading you is over the line, reading your brother certainly is." She sighed softly, and he gave her a gentle smile. "Go and talk to him, love. He's your brother. And don't you dare worry about me, okay?"

She smiled. "I'll try not to."

"I mean it. In fact, I forbid you from thinking about me at all tonight."

Her smile grew a little wider. "Easier said than done."

"Go on." He reached forward and brushed her cheek with a kiss, then straightened up. "But before you go… do you know where you Mum keeps her take out menus?"

She laughed. "Mom doesn't do take out, Cal. But she said to help yourself to any food or utensils or anything you want…" She hopped off the bar stool and opened the large cupboard next to the refrigerator, then tossed something at Cal. "You might want this as well."

He caught the apron deftly, then opened it out and held it against him, grinning at the bright pattern of roses. "Thanks love."

"It's very becoming." She giggled, then walked towards him. Wrapping her arms around him she gave him a brief hug, and felt the reassuring squeeze of his hand on her shoulder before she pulled away. "Bye, Cal."

"Bye, love," he said as she walked towards the door. "And remember – no thinking about me at all."

She turned and smiled. "Only if you promise not to think about me."

"Deal." He watched as she walked through the living room, waited until he heard the gentle click of the door open and close, then let out the breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Not think about Foster all evening. Like that was going to happen.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Same as always**

Chapter Eleven

Gillian sat in the hotel lobby, scraping the toe of her shoe along the edge of the rug. The receptionist had called Stephen's room, at Gillian's request, and he'd said he'd be right down. Her mind flickered to Cal; she'd promised him she wouldn't think about him tonight, but sitting alone, waiting for her brother, she had very little to do _but _think, and it just so happened that, as often, he was at the forefront of her mind. He'd been so good to her, so supportive, she honestly didn't know how she'd have got through the last couple of days without him. Of course, there was more to come… it was Saturday night, the funeral wasn't until Tuesday, and the days that Gillian assumed would be filled with tasks like helping her mother clear out her father's stuff now stretched ahead of her, empty and fairly pointless.

Of course, they didn't _need _to be pointless. Gillian wasn't oblivious to the fact that this would be the longest amount of time she'd spent with her mother in a decade – it could be a chance to build bridges, to heal scars that she'd always thought would remain unchanged and raw. The fact that she was staying at the house meant she and her mother would be in each other's pockets for the best part of five days; unless, of course, she was able to escape frequently, as she had today, or her mother continued to go to parties and social gatherings. Gillian sighed, leaning her head back on the plush hotel sofa. Did she expect her mother to just cancel all her plans because her daughter had arrived? No. That was selfish. _She has every right to continue living her life_, Gillian told herself. But what about cancelling plans because her ex-husband had just died? Was _that _too unreasonable? _Well, she's cancelled everything for Tuesday, and she did arrange the funeral_…

Gillian's internal debate was interrupted when she heard Stephen's voice. "Hey, little sis."

She stood up and gave him a quick hug. "Still forgetting your age, Stephen?" she smiled.

"What, you mean the fact that you're two years older than me? Nah." He grinned. "You'll always be my little sister. Look at you." He pulled himself up so he was standing even taller, and she shook her head.

"You might be taller, but I'm older and wiser, and don't you forget it."

"Whatever you say. So, want to go get a drink? A bite to eat? I'd invite you up to the room, but it's just a boring hotel room, and the night is young…"

"Okay." She picked up her bag, and together they walked out of the double doors into the warm night.

###

"I did not!"

"You did. You totally did."

"You are so wrong! I would _never _do that." Gillian giggled and pulled her straw between her teeth, taking another sip of her cosmopolitan.

"And yet… you did."

"Your memory's failing you." She stuck her tongue out at him. "How old was I when this supposedly happened?"

"You were… eight, I reckon?"

"So you were six. Such a good age for clear, reliable memories, isn't it?"

He laughed. "It happened, Gill. When you were eight, you peed in Mr Belfry's rosebed. And you weren't even sorry." He lifted his glass and took a swig, then gave his sister a grin as he placed it back on the table. She was shaking her head at him, but smiling softly. "This is nice," he said. "The two of us. Hanging out."

"Yeah, it is." She sipped her drink thoughtfully. "I wasn't expecting much time, this weekend, for just the two of us."

If he knew where she was leading, he pretended not to. "Mom always butting in, you mean?" he asked casually. "Yeah, well. She's busy enough to stay out of our way sometimes."

"No, I meant… I thought Helen would be here. And the kids."

"Yeah, well they're not. Sorry about that."

"What's going on, Stephen? Where's Helen?"

"Can't you tell just from looking at my face?" He didn't sound or look angry; his comment wasn't meant as an insult, more a joke that failed to hit the mark. Hurt flashed across Gillian's face, although he, of course, didn't notice.

"I'm not going to read you, Stephen. I want you to talk to me."

He shrugged. "Helen and I are getting a divorce."

"Oh, Stephen." He flinched at the sympathy in her voice.

"Don't, Gill."

"Don't what?"

"Don't mother me like that. Don't look at me with sympathy and pity. It's over, it's ok, I'm fine with it." He took another swig of his drink, and Gillian bit her bottom lip.

She'd had enough arguments with her mother already this weekend; the last thing she wanted to do was push her brother away as well. "Okay," she said quietly, returning her gaze to her cocktail. She slowly began swirling the umbrella around, waiting for the comfort to return to the silence.

"So, first you and Alec, now me and Helen." Stephen spoke first. "Both Mom's kids divorced within a year. Bet she's feeling really great about instilling in us the importance of marriage and fidelity."

"I never cheated on Alec!" Gillian lifted her head sharply to meet his eyes.

He laughed. "No, you didn't."

"_He _cheated on _me_, and he started using drugs again, and…" She trailed off as she caught the expression on his face. "But you cheated on Helen, didn't you?" She couldn't keep the accusation from her voice, and he shot her a scornful look.

"What happened to not reading me, Gill?"

"You cheated on her. Why? You were happy, you have the kids…"

"We _were _happy. Once upon a time. Then stuff happened… _life _happened. I don't know…" He shrugged. "It's no big deal, Gill. We just drifted apart, and I met Melissa. She was just, I don't know, an _escape _from it all I guess. Then Helen found out… told me she wanted a divorce."

"And is that what you want?"

"Oh, enough Gill!" He stood up. "This conversation's over. I'm not one of your patients, I'm not here for counselling or any of your psychobabble. Just leave it, okay?"

"Okay, okay," she said quickly. "Just… stay, please." She shot him a pleading look. "You wouldn't leave your sister drinking alone at a bar, would you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I suppose that's not the kind of thing a _big _brother ought to do. Or a little one."

She smiled in relief. "I promise, no more divorce talk. Yours or mine."

"What about Mom and Dad's?"

She hesitated. "Did you know? About their divorce?"

"I guess divorce is catching, huh?" he commented, signalling to the barman that he wanted a refill. "Same again, Gill?" he gestured to her glass.

"I'd rather you answered my question without deflecting."

"Oh, deflecting, was I? Let me guess, I also shrugged my shoulder, and my left ear lobe moved in just such a way to let you know what thought was running through my brain."

She sucked in her breath. Stephen often made fun of her work – playful banter, jokes between siblings. But now she sensed he was genuinely launching a personal attack, and she didn't like it. As much as she tried telling herself he was just projecting his hurt over his divorce –and possibly from their father's death – onto her, it didn't make it any easier to stomach.

"Don't take your anger out on me," she said. "We're in this together, aren't we?" She laid a hand on his arm. "Mom and Dad. All of it. We're both part of it."

"We don't have to be part of anything. Mom and Dad were like magnets; sometimes they repelled each other so much, it caused chaos for everyone around them, but they could also be so attracted to each other, it was enough to stop them pulling away. At least, until recently. Then she did pull away. They divorced, he died… it's over, Gill."

"And that's it? You don't think we have anything else to talk about? Like the fact that we're going to be burying our father on Tuesday?"

"He's being cremated."

"That's hardly the point, Stephen."

He drained his glass, shoving some notes towards the bartender. "I'd better get back. Thanks for dinner and drinks." He stood up, and Gillian followed suit.

"So that's it? You came back to LA four days before the funeral just so you could hide in your hotel room?"

"I'd hardly call it hiding – I've just spent the evening hanging out with my sister. And I'll probably come over tomorrow to see Mom."

He pulled his jacket on, and Gillian ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. "You never answered my question, you know."

"I know." He gave her a small smile, and she felt some of her tension ebbing away. He pulled her towards him, planted a quick kiss to her forehead and then pulled back. "Want me to wait while you find a cab? Or you could walk back to the hotel with me and I'll call you one from there?"

"It's okay." She shook her head. "There's somewhere I need to be right now."

He glanced at his watch. "It's almost 10, you know. Be careful."

"Now you do sound like a big brother."

He smiled. "I'll come to the house tomorrow, Gill. But we don't need to spend every spare minute raking over the past. Okay?"

She sighed, but returned his smile. "Okay. And don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Going to the beach? Or going back to see Cal?" He raised his eyebrow slightly at her.

"Goodnight, Stephen." They stepped out the door, and she felt the night air, cooler but not cold, making her hair flutter against her cheek.

"You haven't answered my question," he said as she turned to walk away.

She stopped and turned back to him slightly with a little smile. "I know."

###

Cal had cooked himself an enjoyable vegetable pasta meal, done the dishes and tided up the kitchen, and was now sat in the living room, his nose buried in a book. Darkness had crept in, and he'd drawn the heavy curtains in the living room and flicked on the small lamp by the sofa. The light was enough for him to read by, and he was barely aware of the time anymore, the hours slipped by comfortably as he tried to focus on the escapades of the fictional characters spread on the pages before him, and not worry about Gillian.

He turned the page, then looked up when he heard the click of the front door.

"Hi."

"Hi." He smiled at her, then placed his bookmark inside the book and carefully put it down on the coffee table. "Have a good evening?"

"I did, yes. Thank you." She took her jacket off and left to hang it up, then returned to the living room. "Did you?"

"Not bad." He watched as she took two glasses and a bottle of brandy from the drinks cabinet and poured them both a drink. She slid it across the table to him, then sat down in the chair opposite. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet up, taking a long sip from her glass.

"Can we talk, Cal? Honestly?"

He nodded, watching her with intrigue as he leant forward and picked up his glass. "Where would you like to start?"

She took another sip of her drink. "I think we ought to start with my daughter."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Not likely to ever be, either.**

Chapter Twelve

"Okay." Cal nodded, and waited for her to speak what was on her mind.

"Do you think it was wrong of me to hide the truth from her about my divorce?"

"It's not really for me to say," he said diplomatically, but Caroline shook her head.

"Be honest with me, Cal. No need to be polite tonight, or try to spare my feelings. What's said in this room stays in this room, and if we need to, we'll forget about it tomorrow. But I want you to be honest with me."

He looked at her for a minute, swilling the amber liquid around his glass. "Okay then. Yes. I think she deserved the truth."

She nodded, satisfied, almost as though she'd just given him a test which, if that were the case, Cal thought he had passed. But then, with Caroline, you could never be sure. She didn't say anything for a moment. When she did speak, it was more openly and honestly than Cal had ever heard her. "Everyone thinks that being married to an alcoholic must be a constant barrage of misery and emotional agony, but it wasn't. People assume that your days are spent watching your husband as he lays passed out on the sofa, cleaning up vomit in the bathroom, lying for him, covering for him, checking your purse to see if he's taken yet more money to spend at the off license. They think his occasional violent streak means you spend every moment you're in the same room with him in fear. It's not true. I'm not saying those things never happened, but they weren't the sum of our marriage. Only part of it. Take away the arguments, take away the bitterness, take away the fear and the frustration and the gut-wrenching agony of 'will he ever change' and do you know what you are left with? You're left with the man you fell in love with. And as much as he breaks your heart sometimes, you can't walk away from him."

He nodded slowly, intrigued to hear Caroline open up like this. He wondered if she'd ever spoken this honestly to Gillian, if she ever would.

"I know Gillian's childhood wasn't a picnic. And yes, if I'm honest, William and I did neglect her somewhat. He had a temper, we argued a lot, he was sometimes an 'embarrassment' to me, he'd disappear – sometimes for weeks at a time – and eventually crawl home with his tail between his legs, promising this time he'd stay sober. He never did, of course." She paused, her eyes boring into Cal's. "Do you think I'm a fool for staying married to him as long as I did?"

"Love makes fools of all of us; but no. I don't." She looked as if she didn't believe him, and he continued. "If there were good times… I know what it's like to be in a relationship that's made up of ecstasy and agony; I know what it's like to have arguments that make you feel like the world is collapsing on top of you, and fire and passion and love that makes you feel like your heart's about to burst. And I know what it's like to be unable to separate the two; to find it impossible to imagine ever having one without the other, because they are so intricately linked. It's either neither, or both." He took a sip of his drink as she continued to watch him closely. "For a long time, I had both. Didn't want my marriage to be a failure, didn't want my daughter to be the product of a broken home, didn't want to be alone. And then she made the decision for me. Neither it is."

"Do you wish it had been different?" Her voice had dropped so low Cal had to strain to hear her.

"Sometimes. Loneliness can make you wish for all manner of things which you know are no good for you. But when I remember how bad things were at times, I realise it would be madness to ever think of returning, to ask her to take me back – not that she would."

"You don't regret the end of your marriage?"

"I wish, in a lot of ways, we could have made it work. Who wants to be forced to admit that their marriage was a failure?"

"I understand." She nodded. "But not all relationships can last forever. Sometimes, perhaps, you have to admit that the time has simply come for it to end…"

"Yeah. I'd say that's a pretty good way of looking at things."

"What do you make of Gillian's marriage?" She cocked her head to the side, waiting for his answer.

He jolted slightly at the question, not having expected the conversation to shift in that direction.

"Not really my place to say, is it?"

"Why?" she fired at him, and he raised his eyebrows. "We're talking about marriage, and divorce. You know Gillian, you know Alec. You knew her before, during and after her marriage… I'm interested to hear your opinion."

"I think I owe her more loyalty than to casually discuss her marriage."

"I won't tell her about this conversation, if you'd prefer me not to. I told you – what we say here, tonight, stays between us."

"I'm not in the habit of keeping secrets from her, either." He spoke casually enough, but there was a slight edge to his voice, an insistence for Caroline to not push the topic. She didn't take the hint – or chose to ignore it.

"Oh, come now Cal, we both know that's not true." Her eyes were glittering as she leant forward in her chair. "There's a lot you haven't told my daughter."

"And there's a lot you haven't told her either. It took you two and a half years to tell her you'd divorced her father; goodness knows what other secrets you're hiding."

That idea seemed to amuse her, and she leant back in her chair with a quiet laugh. "I never said I didn't have secrets. Doesn't everyone?"

"So what's your point?"

"I feel we've somehow gone off on a bit of a tangent… we were, were we not, discussing the finer points of marriage and divorce. And, dare I say, coming close to agreeing on something… would it be fair to say, Cal, that thus far your visit has consisted of polite conversation and an attempt to keep the peace between me and my daughter? I don't imagine you've allowed yourself to speak your mind at all, since your purpose here is to be a source of comfort to Gillian in her hour of need. But she's not here now, and what is said within these four walls stays within. You may not want to give me your opinion on her marriage and divorce, but tell me Cal: are all your niceties false towards me? Do you despise me as much as I sometimes fear my daughter does? Or is it merely that you misunderstand me?"

He surveyed her over the top of his glass as he took another swig, never breaking eye contact. The intensity of her gaze was almost as strong as his; he wasn't sure whether he found it unnerving or challenging. Eventually deciding on the latter, he placed his glass back on the table and clasped his hands together on his lap before speaking.

"Alright. You want the truth? Even though I can't promise you'll like it?"

"Yes." She spoke with such conviction, no matter what she was saying; Cal couldn't ever imagine her being indecisive about anything.

"Okay then. I think you want to be a good mother, but you're afraid. Afraid of failing, afraid of not being good enough, afraid of not knowing the _reason _why you're not good enough. I think you tried, when Gillian was growing up, to be a good mother to her. Juggling your complicated marriage, a busy social life, the running of a household and raising two children, you couldn't always be the best mother in the world, but God knows, that's what you wanted, isn't it?"

She didn't say anything, just continued to gaze at him.

"But she left home. Of course, you always knew she would – a smart girl like her, she'd go off to college, she'd want to make her way in the world. Yeah, you always knew she'd leave home – but you never imagined she'd fly out that door as fast as she could and never look back."

Sadness flickered across her face, but Cal had started now, and the unfiltered truth, as she had requested, was precisely what she was going to get. He also had a feeling it was what she wanted; emotional as it may be, she truly wanted to hear his opinion of her.

"You couldn't explain to yourself, not adequately, anyway, why she'd left – why she didn't want to return. Couldn't explain why your relationship was so fractured, why she preferred her new life to the one you'd offered her here. And a woman like you hates to feel lost, or rejected. You hate to feel like you've failed, and if there's no plausible reason for that failure… well, it makes it even worse, doesn't it? So you create reasons. You push her away when she comes close to you, because then when she pulls away you can chalk it up to your frankness, the little digs you make about her, your to-the-point attitude and comments that sometimes cut too deep. But, that makes you feel guilty – because deep down, you don't want to be that person. You want to be a good mother, you want to be a nurturer, you want to love and be loved in return. So you greet her warmly at the door, you put her favourite flowers in her room, you compliment her. And then the fear kicks in again – that despite your efforts, she'll walk away. So you continue with your passive aggressive comments, your subtly snide remarks, your irritating interference. No wonder she's so bloody confused."

"Aren't you guilty of the same thing?"

Whatever he'd been expecting her to say in response to his tirade, it certainly wasn't that. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. You're just as guilty of giving out mixed messages as I am. Tugging her towards you with one hand and pushing her away with the other. Alternating between being the caring friend and the irresponsible headache she has to put up with. We had a little chat on the phone a few weeks ago about Vegas… not really a deep and meaningful, but she mentioned a couple of things in passing. Like you sleeping with one of the poker players you were investigating… do you know how much that hurt her?"

"She told you that?" He was trying to keep his voice controlled, but the anger was there, and she saw it. Of course she saw it.

"She didn't have to. You do that, and yet you call her love and put your arm around her when she's upset and fly to California with her." Cal spent his life scrutinising other people, but in that moment he felt that no one had ever looked at him as closely as Caroline was now, not even her daughter. "So, don't tell me I'm the only one who oscillates between love and apathy. Until you decide what you want from my daughter, you confuse her just as much as I do. Beckoning her closer then shutting her out. What does she make of that, I wonder?"

"There's a difference between us, though, isn't there?" He chewed his bottom lip slightly as he spoke. His next words were going to sound cruel, but weren't they being honest now?

"And what's that?" she asked.

"She sticks with me. And she left you."

A slight twitch from Caroline made Cal think she'd wanted, for a second, to hit him. Perhaps she had. All she did, however, was take another sip of her drink, then say coolly, "But she won't forever. Not unless you do something about it."

"You know I didn't come here to fight with you," he said, shaking his head.

"This isn't a fight, Cal."

"Really? Feels like we're teetering on the edge of war here, Caroline."

"You're being honest. I appreciate it. Although I'd know if you lied to me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"When people refuse to speak to you, you learn to interpret their body language and expressions; you adapt to survive. William wouldn't admit if he'd started drinking again – but I knew. Neither of my children would talk to me about their lives, where they were going or what they were doing – I had to find some way of communicating with them, even if it was one-sided and they didn't even realise it was happening. It wasn't really a conscious decision, but I became quite good at it. Even you, Cal; a man who is, to most, so unreadable – you are like an open book to me. Perhaps because you see me, or rather, saw me - after my admission I doubt it will continue to be so – as no threat to you. With Gillian, on the other hand, whose skills at deception detection and microexpression recognition you are well aware of, you are much more guarded. But with me you let that mask slip sometimes… and I see the secrets you think you're so good at hiding."

He rested his hands under his chin, but said nothing. Caroline's gaze continued to penetrate him, and he looked back with equal intensity.

"I knew you were a perceptive woman," he said at last, and a smiled flickered across her face; it was laced with sadness though, and he didn't miss the significance of the way those two emotions were so frequently mingled for her. "What made you eventually decide to leave your husband?" He wasn't going to shy away from the big questions, not now. Who knew when they'd have another moment like this; an open forum, permission to speak freely, a promise to give an honest answer.

"You obviously don't catch every lie, Cal." He raised an eyebrow at her in question, and she continued. "I may have given the impression that I was the one to walk away from my marriage, that I was the one to say 'enough is enough' and show the world that I had grown weary of my husband's drinking and fruitless promises to change, but the truth is… I never had the strength that Gillian had, to walk away from a failing marriage. She did what she had to do, while I… I clung to a sinking ship, because I didn't know what else to do." Her eyes had become a little glassy, but Cal respected her present honesty too much to embarrass her by pointing out her tears. "I didn't leave my husband, Cal. He left me. I was dumped by an alcoholic who I spent years considering leaving, but didn't. Ironic, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling it was a lame response but one that, somehow, ought to be given.

"We have more in common than you think, Cal." She sipped her drink again. "The only difference is your wife is still alive. I now have to mourn a man I tried to stopped loving. Some days I even think I succeeded. But… William was always the kind of man it was easy to hate, and difficult to stop loving."

"Gillian thinks you don't care. You haven't shown any sadness, about her father's death, since we arrived."

"My… emotions… are something I like to keep private. Anyway – what's done is done. I'm sorry he's dead, but I need to move on with my life."

"She expected to have to step into the role of caring and supportive daughter… flying out here, to see you, to look after you. I think she imagined you'd be grieving, and would need her. It seems you don't."

"Does she want me to need her?" Caroline looked to Cal's face for her answer, nodding when she got it. "She always was the nurturing type. Not like me. She'd make a wonderful mother," she said softly.

"Did you ever tell her that?"

His question hung in the air, unanswered. She drained her glass, put it down on the table, then lifted her eyes to meet his again. "I think it might just be too late to play the caring mother card now."

"No. It's not. It's never too late."

"You've seen us together, Cal. We clash. We always have. I can't find a reason why… maybe it's just better to accept that we'll never be that close. I love her – I always will love her, probably more than she'll ever know – but if I can't be a positive aspect of her life, I'd rather be kept at arm's length. It's better that than make things worse for her, isn't it?"

Cal considered her words. Eventually he said, "Do you know the most amazing thing about your daughter?"

"No," she said with a small smile, "but I'm very intrigued to hear what that might be."

"She's an eternal optimist, a constant ray of sunshine, an endless source of happiness and hope. No matter what life throws at her – her husband's drug addiction, losing Sophie, her divorce, her father's alcoholism and death – she battles through it all with her head held high, and faces every crisis with composure, poise and incredible strength. And she has a great capacity for love and forgiveness. Even a childhood which left her so bruised that merely returning to the home she grew up in is ripping her to shreds can't take away the dignity and grace she conducts herself with every day. She has more courage and determination than any woman I've ever met. She's extraordinary."

"Yes," Caroline said quietly. "Yes, she is. Don't you think it's about time you told her?"

"I have told her. I tell her every day."

Caroline shook her head. "No, you don't. Not like that."

He cocked his head at her, raising an eyebrow.

"You might compliment her, encourage her, support her. But any time you say words bordering on what you just told me, you do so under the guise of her friend, her business partner. You hide in those roles, never allowing her to see the truth. Why not, Cal? Why can't you tell my daughter what you just told me, with the same amount of honesty and clarity, so that she can finally see how much you love her?"

He didn't reply at first; he had the strange sense that she wasn't expecting him to, didn't need him to. The look on her face was a mixture of satisfaction and intrigue.

"I don't say it… for the same reason that you won't try harder to be part of her life," he said eventually.

She exhaled slightly. "You think you're not good enough for her?"

"I know I'm not."

"You think she's better off without you?"

"Your daughter… is amazing. And she deserves to be with someone who can take care of her, who can give her the world, and more. I've already damaged her enough; I refuse to do it anymore."

She shook her head. "You don't see it, don't you?" She looked half amused, half concerned.

"Don't see what?"

"Gillian doesn't want the world. She wants you."

He swallowed reflexively. "We're friends."

"You love her. She loves you. I can see it – any idiot can see it, except you two. You think keeping her at arm's length will keep her happy, but it won't. It's not what she wants."

"You just said that's what you're going to do – keep your distance, to avoid hurting her. So don't tell me it's not appropriate for me to do the same. And you're her mother – you should be in her life even more than I should."

"Biology is irrelevant. It's not who I am in relation to Gillian that matters – it's who she wants, who she needs. When she's with me, she's confused, irritable, emotional, bitter, depressed… a whole host of emotions that I don't want to inflict on my daughter. And do you know what she is when she's around you, Cal?" She paused, but he didn't answer. "Happy," she said, sounding almost triumphant. "She's happy, Cal. She's happiest when she's with you."

"It's not that simple. I wish it were…"

"Of course it is."

He shook his head. "My life… my past, my flaws, my… darkness. She's too good for any of it."

"You think she's unaware of your past? She's knows you're not exactly a choir boy, Cal. She knows exactly who you are, and she loves you anyway. Can't you let that be enough for you?"

"She deserves better."

"Better than the man she loves? I'm not sure there is anything better than that."

"You married the man you loved – look at your life. Look at everything you've said tonight about your marriage. Do you honestly think I want that to happen with Gillian?"

"We're hardly the same, Cal. You're not an alcoholic, for one thing."

"No, but I have faults and flaws and the inability to stop screwing up things in my life… and if I can keep Gillian away from that, I will. I do."

"But you don't, do you?" She raised her voice, and he shifted slightly in his chair.

"I don't what?"

"You don't keep her away from it. You work together, you spend a lot of time together, you're closer than most business partners… she's part of your life, Cal. The good and the bad." She leant across the table towards him. "She's already made the decision that she wants to be in your life. It's not too big a step to take to just… move things on a little."

He clenched his jaw. "And if things didn't work out? What's your miracle solution to that?"

"Oh…" she said softly, leaning back in the chair. "You're afraid."

"What? I'm…"

"Fear. I see it. On your face." She gestured towards him. "I mean, I knew you were afraid that you weren't good enough for her, afraid of what your… darkness, as you call it… would do to her, how you might sully her purity and goodness somehow. I didn't recognise the other fear. Fear of rejection, of losing her. Fear that if you try and fail at being lovers, you'll lose her friendship. Correct?"

In the back of his mind it registered that it was strange to be discussing the possibility of being Gillian's _lover _with her mother, but there were too many other thoughts jostling for dominance in his mind to allow that one full access.

"It's a valid concern, isn't it? My friendship with Foster… the company… everything we have… it means a hell of a lot to me."

She nodded. "Of course. But… wouldn't a complete life with her mean even more?"

"There's no guarantee we'd have that."

"You bet a million dollars on roulette, you said?"

"Yes."

"And yet you're not willing to take a risk now?"

"No," he said quietly. "Because your daughter is worth more than a million dollars. A lot more."

"So that's it? You're just going to be a coward about this?" Her eyes flashed with triumph when she saw his reaction.

"Is it wrong to want what's best for her? To want to protect her… and myself, from getting our hearts broken?"

"It's not wrong," she said softly. "But living so close to what you want and not being able to have it… all look but don't touch… that's hardly best for either of you."

"I think we've done enough talking for tonight." He stood up.

"Just think about it, Cal. Do you really want to spend your whole life wondering what you've missed out on?"

"Goodnight, Caroline."

"Tell her, Cal," she said simply. "Tell her."

"Tell her what?" came a tired voice from the doorway.

They both turned towards her, and Gillian looked from Cal to her mother, flicking over the empty glasses on the table as she did so. "Tell her what?"


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry for the extremely long wait everyone! Between work, my new addiction to The Practice and writing some other stuff, this chapter has taken quite a while to materialise. Anyway, I'll try not to leave it so long before the next one!

**Disclaimer: Same as always**

Chapter Thirteen

"Gillian." Caroline stood up, glanced quickly at Cal and then smiled at her daughter. "Did you and Stephen have a good evening?"

"It was fine." Gillian's eyes remained on Cal's, but she turned around when she saw her mother moving towards her.

"Well, goodnight you two." Caroline swept past her, and Gillian waited until the sound of her mother's footsteps had disappeared before she turned back to Cal.

"So. Seems like you had an interesting evening."

He stood up and took a step towards her, reading the hurt and anger on her face and in her voice.

"You okay love?"

She shook her head with a slight scoff. "I'm going to bed."

He licked his lips quickly, a slight frown on his face as he tilted his head to one side and surveyed her.

"Don't, Cal. Just don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't read me."

She turned and started to walk towards the door, but his voice stopped her.

"I thought you wanted to know what we were talking about? What, all of a sudden you've changed your mind?"

She turned towards him, slowly. When she spoke, her voice betrayed her fatigue. "I don't care what you and my mother were talking about. It's late, and I'm tired, and I want to go to bed. End of discussion."

"You don't want to talk about this?"

Again she had turned to leave, but paused when he spoke. "I would've thought you'd had enough talking for one night. Looks like quite the deep and meaningful you were having. I'm sorry I came back and interrupted you."

"Gill… don't be like this."

"Don't," she held up her hand, fighting to control the words, "don't tell me how I can or cannot be, Cal."

"Look, I'm sorry love, but…"

"Goodnight, Cal," she said firmly, and this time when she turned to leave, she did not stop.

###

It took her a long time to fall asleep – last night she'd had the effects of alcohol to help ease her into slumbers, but she'd only had a couple of drinks at the bar with Stephen, and even though she felt tired, her eyes would not seem to close. Was it really only yesterday she'd arrived back in California? It seemed like an age; was it really only last night she'd sat through that awkward (although admittedly delicious) dinner at Melisse? Was it really only yesterday that she found out her parents were divorced, that both her mother and father had read her books? Was it really only today that she'd seen her brother again?

She sighed, turning over in the hopes that a new position would beckon sleep a little nearer. Images kept whirring in her mind, and even with her eyes tightly shut she could not erase them. Cal, telling her he'd be there for her no matter what. Cal, wandering around LA with her, putting up with her fluctuating mood. Cal, encouraging her to go and spend time with her brother. Cal, sitting in the living room having a cosy chat with her mother… She lifted her head then dropped it back on her pillow with a frustrated sigh. Had she been wrong to be so abrupt with him? What had he done wrong, really? For half a second she considered getting up and going to see him – padding along the halls in bare feet, knocking lightly on the door and seeing if he answered. She rebuffed the thought almost as soon as it hit her, and instead forced her eyes to close again, hoping she could switch her whirring mind off.

Eventually, sentences slowed to words, and scenes replaying in her head were replaced by snapshot images. _Mom. Dad. Stephen. Divorce. Funeral. Cal. _

_Cal. Cal. Cal._

###

Waking up without a hangover already made today an improvement on yesterday, but Gillian still found she had no real desire to get out of bed. With the news of her parent's divorce and her mother continuing to bustle around as though nothing had happened, Gillian found herself at a loss as to what her role was to be over the next few days. It was Sunday morning – the funeral wasn't until Tuesday, she didn't know what Stephen's plans were, and she'd done a good job of pushing Cal away last night.

She sighed, pushing the covers back slowly and standing up. Opening the curtains, she was greeted by warm, bright sunshine and a sky as blue as the ocean. _Just another sunny Californian day_, she thought, running her fingers down the material of the curtains. _Just another day._

###

Cal was in the kitchen when Gillian arrived, sitting with his back to her, the morning paper spread out before him, a glass of orange juice by his side. She hesitated for a moment in the doorway, watching his hand reach for the glass, seeing him flick the pages, pausing when he saw something he wanted to read. After a minute, he spoke. "Going to stand there all day, love?"

She let out a small laugh. "How'd you know I was here?"

He swivelled in the chair and grinned at her. "I know everything, or have you forgotten?"

"Silly me," she said lightly, pulling out the stool next to his. "I guess since we're away from the office, my mind has lapsed when it comes to memories of your amazing powers."

He closed the paper and pushed it away from him slightly, giving her a smile. She returned it, albeit a little halfheartedly.

"Cal… about last night." She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said… any, of what I said. I was just…"

"It's alright love."

"No, it's not." She looked up, almost annoyed that he would forgive her so easily, when she felt she didn't deserve it. "I guess I just didn't expect to see… it's just…" She tried to gather her thoughts and form them into words properly, but coherency would not seem to come. "She's my mother, and you're my… it's just a little weird, I guess, but…"

"Sure."

"But I had no right to speak to you like that, to make it sound like an accusation, when you'd done nothing wrong. You and my mother are perfectly within your rights to have a conversation, I shouldn't have got so… irate, about the whole thing."

"Well, I think you had some right, I mean… we were talking about you." He spoke casually, but she felt her breath catch a little at his words.

"You were?"

"Of course. Amongst a few other things."

"Such as?"

He hesitated a moment as he looked at her. "Look, your mum and I made a deal, last night. That what we talked about wouldn't go any further than the two of us. Now, I know I owe you more loyalty than her, and don't for a minute think this is about taking sides because, when it comes down to it, you know I'll always be in your corner, right?"

She nodded slowly.

"But… there are some things that were said, and I don't feel comfortable betraying her trust. I'm a man of my word, so…"

"So… you won't tell me? Not even some of the things you said?"

He gave her a half-grin. "Well, you may be right, some of the things I said would be up for discussion, since, technically, that wouldn't be a betrayal of your mother's confidence." He had to admire her attempt to find a way around things. "But I think before you and I discuss… anything… you and your mum ought to have a chat."

Disappointment flashed across her face that she didn't bother to conceal. "She was telling you to tell me something, when I walked in last night. Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Thing is, love, you and your mum have a more pressing time frame than we do. The funeral's the day after tomorrow, and after that we'll probably be heading back home, yes?"

She nodded.

"So, I reckon you need to get things sorted out with her, while you're here. 'Cause you and I, you know… well, we've got a lifetime to have that conversation."

"Can it wait a lifetime?" she asked quietly, and he smiled.

"I have a feeling it may be worth waiting for. Although perhaps a lifetime was a bit of an exaggeration." He reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I've got an old friend, lives about an hour away from here. I'm going to rent a car, drive down and see him for the day."

Fear flashed across her face briefly, and he couldn't help but feel a tug of emotion at the thought that his lack of presence for the rest of the day scared her. "You'll be fine, love," he said, and she nodded.

"Yeah. I know."

"Talk to your mum, yeah?"

"Yes, boss."

He grinned, then stood up and drained his glass. She watched as he crossed to the sink, washed and dried it and replaced it in the cupboard. He gave her a smile as he walked back towards her, then stooped to brush her cheek with a kiss.

"Have a good day, love."

"You too, Cal," she said sincerely.

He stood in front of her for a moment before shooting her another half smile. "Bye darling."

She watched him leave, heard the click of the door, felt the silence settle in the room. Then she pushed her chair back, and a picture of her mother's face crinkled in disapproval at the scraping noise it made flashed through her mind, and she wanted to laugh.

The day stretched ahead of her, and she planned to keep to her promise to talk to her mother. But first, there was a room in her house that she had to revisit, and, as she started to head towards the stairs, she felt a knot twisting in her stomach at the thought of finally stepping into it again. But it was time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

Chapter Fourteen

Gillian wrapped her right hand around the cool metal of the handle, and used her left to run her fingers down the wood of the door. She leant forwards, resting her head lightly against it for a moment, then, drawing back, knocked lightly. She knew there was no one in there, but it was too much of a habit to break. She couldn't imagine ever walking into this room without having knocked first, even if there was no one inside to answer her. After a moment, she twisted the handle, then gently pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was exactly as it had been the last time she'd been there, and she was unsure whether or not this was a good thing. Part of her felt glad that it hadn't changed; she'd half expected her mother to have turned it into a gym or something, although the reference her mother had made to it at dinner on Friday suggested this was not so. It looked the same; the dark green walls, the endless shelves, the chair by the fire, the little table, the oriental rug. It smelt the same; musty, and old, like a room full of secrets and stories. Which, she supposed, it was. But part of her had hoped it would feel different, in some way. She was an adult now – the life she had led when this room was at the centre of everything seemed like a thousand years ago – what did it say about her that she could surround herself with these four walls and feel the same way she did at age five, age nine, age twelve? She felt so out of place staying in her old house, but walking back into this room was like stepping back in time, and she didn't know whether she felt more reassured or discomfited by that sensation.

She took a step towards the nearest shelf, running her fingertips down the spines of the books. Why hadn't her father taken all this with him when he moved out? It had been almost two years; surely it wasn't a matter of not getting round to it? The library had been his sanctuary, his books were his passion. How could he have just walked away from that?

Gillian inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. She could still picture him, sat in the chair, a book open on his lap, a bottle of scotch on the table next to him. And if she looked hard enough, she could see herself as a child, curled up at his feet, a book of her own laid before her.

Tentatively, she stepped towards the chair, splaying her hand across it. The material felt warm, which she hadn't expected. It didn't look like it had been vacant for two years, but Gillian couldn't imagine her mother coming in here. She'd never cared for the library; she wasn't much of a reader, and, besides, it was her husband's room. She knew, very much, that it was out of bounds for her. No, this room was for William. And his daughter.

She took another step forwards, reaching up to the rows of book next to the fire. Her eyes scanned the titles until she found the one she was looking for: Alice in Wonderland. Pulling it off the shelf, she marvelled at her ability to remember the book's exact location. Her father had always refused to organise his library by author, subject matter, even publication date – choosing instead his own method, which held no logical reasoning for Gillian, but which always seemed to work for him. Still, she'd always known where her favourite books were kept, and this was the one she'd loved best of all. It was the book her father used to read to her before she was old enough to decode the words herself; it was the book she used to read aloud to him, when the sun drew out the long evenings and her mother kept knocking on the door, trying to jostle her into bed; it was the book she would read to herself, silently, while her father read one of his own, or slept in his chair. The older she grew, the more aware she became that his naps were due to the bottle by his chair that seemed to empty itself at an increasing rate, but it didn't change certain things. Like the fact that when he was in his library, her father never raised his voice. "Books like the quiet," he'd told her, and she believed it. He'd taught her a lot of things about books. That books can take you to another world. That books can give you knowledge, and power, and freedom. That life can be full of surprises, but you can revisit a book, and the chapters will not have rearranged themselves while you slept – they will be the same as they were yesterday, and the day before. That books allow a glimpse into the past, and the future, and even the present – just somebody else's, not your own. That you could take an idea, a thought, a passion, a story, and mould it with words, imprint it on paper and share it with the world. He'd taught her that books deserved respect, and should always be handled with love and care. And he hadn't just told her these things – he'd shown her. She'd seen how he reverently stroked the covers of books, the delicate way he turned the pages, the carefulness with which he read, so as not to crease the spine. And he'd taught her to read; she'd been fluent before she started school, because he had taught her to recognise the words, to understand their meaning, to respond with ideas of her own.

She hesitated near the chair, feeling it was wrong somehow to sit there. Instead, she adopted the position she'd always had as a child; on the rug by the chair, her legs tucked under her, one arm resting on the little cushioned stool. Carefully she opened the book, and began to read.

###

She stayed there a long time; pouring over the words like a long lost friend, allowing herself to be spirited away into a fantasy world with Alice, just like she had all those years ago. Eventually, her leg started to cramp up, and she placed the book down on the stool and stood up to walk it off. As she was limping around the room, she suddenly recognised one of the books - and the one next to it, and the one next to that… She pulled it off the shelf, ignoring the pain in her calf, and stared at the front cover that was so familiar. Carefully she ran her fingers over the title, over the letters of her name that seemed bolder now, brighter, standing out crisp and clear on the cover of the book.

She felt the tears starting to spill over onto her cheeks, and quickly brushed them away with the back of her hand. Her mom had said that her father had her books in his library, so why did she feel surprised to see them? Had she forgotten what her mother had said? Had she not believed her? Perhaps in her mind, she had accepted it – known that her mother was not lying when she said her father had left copies of her books in his library – but emotionally, she hadn't really connected with the truth. But seeing it – actually holding the book in her hands – was tugging at her heart in a way she hadn't imagined it would. She'd grown up in this house, and this room was always her favourite. In this room, with the door closed, the outside world didn't exist. What happened at the breakfast table or on the porch or in the living room didn't matter; excuses and arguments and problems were forgotten; you left your role at the door and inside, became someone else. In this room, Gillian had her father. After years of not seeing the room – after walking away from it – she had returned to find her books there. These books represented her career, her adult life – it was as though the grown up version of herself had somehow found her way back there before she even knew it. As an adult, visiting a place that meant so much to her as a child - remembering, reminiscing - she could see how far she'd come by allowing her gaze to sweep from the first book she'd read by herself to the first book she'd ever written. It was as though, somehow, she had come full circle.

As she pulled a second book off the shelf, something fluttered to the floor. It landed face down, but Gillian could see it was a photograph. She bent down and picked it up, turning it over in her delicate fingers. She inhaled sharply as she saw herself, wearing her graduation robes. With a jolt of pain, she recalled the events leading up to that day. How she'd told her father she had only been allocated two guest tickets for the ceremony; how she'd explained that she wanted her mom and Stephen to be there; how he'd told her to try and get an extra ticket because he wanted to come; how she'd argued with him, shouting down the phone that she knew he didn't really care, and that she didn't want him there, spoiling her day. And there it was. Evidence of her success; an image printed on glossy paper that showed she was there, that day. She'd worn her robes and her hat, she'd clutched her papers, she'd smiled at the camera. She'd graduated from college, she'd achieved something, she'd succeeded. And the man she had refused to let anywhere near her on that day had kept a photo of the moment he was excluded from in his library, tucked into one of the books she'd written herself.

She let the books topple to the floor, thinking briefly that her father would hate to see his books treated that way. No doubt she had damaged the spine, and the pages of one seemed to have turned up at the corner. She sank down, turning so her back was against the shelf, and pulled her knees up to her chest. The books – particularly larger ones on the lower shelf – were digging uncomfortably into her back, but she didn't move. She just stayed there, the photo clutched in her hand, the tears sliding down her cheeks. This time, she didn't bother to wipe them away.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Don't own any of this.**

Chapter Fifteen

The clock on the wall seemed to tick more loudly than she'd ever remembered, signifying the passing of time as she sat there, tears pouring down her cheeks. She registered the sound of the monotonous _tick_, _tock_, but could not say how long she sat there before she eventually stood. Where she drew the strength from she did not know, but it came from somewhere and, placing the photo back carefully inside the book she'd found it in, she wiped her eyes and opened the door.

###

She'd expected to have to look for her mother - either that or wait for her to return from wherever she'd gone - but there she was; less than five feet from the door to the library, an expression on her face that even Gillian couldn't read.

"Why did Dad leave the library?" The words shot out of her mouth before she could stop them; she'd intended to ease herself into the conversation somewhat, but she couldn't wait any longer to try and make sense of the confusion in her brain. It was like trying to jam a piece of a puzzle that just didn't fit; she wanted her mother to point her in the direction of the piece that did fit, to allow the finished picture to all make sense. "I don't understand. He loved that room." She pointed towards it, tears of frustration causing her eyes to well up again.

Caroline looked at her daughter closely. When she spoke, it was slow and measured, as though carefully considering the weight of each word. "When your father and I divorced, the division of assets was a fairly simple process. I kept the house, he took the lake house in Montana. He didn't want many of the materialist objects we'd acquired during our marriage, but he took a few things. We split the money from our joint account, but of course I have the money from my grandfather that he couldn't touch…"

"And the library?"

Caroline paused briefly, her eyes flicking towards the now closed door before returning her gaze to Gillian. "He wanted the library to be left as it was, he didn't want to take any of his books with him."

"But why?" Gillian shook her head, as if to try and shake out all her confusion. "It's exactly the same… do you ever use it?"

Her mother gave a brittle laugh. "Darling, I haven't set foot in that room in twenty years. Ramona cleans it."

"Then why haven't you changed it? You don't go in there… Dad didn't come back, did he? To use it?"

"No."

"Then _why_?" The volume and pitch of her voice was rising, she felt her hands clench into fists at her side and for a moment felt like she was seeing herself from the outside. What would she make of the body language and word choices and intonation if she were Dr Foster right now, analysing a stranger, rather than just Gillian, frustrated and confused?

"Because," Caroline said slowly, looking intently at her daughter, "your father asked me to keep it the same."

"And you did as he asked?" She snorted her surprise. "I still don't see why you'd do that."

"He told me that I had to keep that room the same, Gillian… for you." She spoke quietly, but every word seemed to reverberate loudly in Gillian's ears.

"For _me_?"

"When your father moved out, he told me that he was leaving the library, and I wasn't to touch it. He said it wasn't mine, but it wasn't his either; it was yours. And someday you would come back for it."

"But… I…" The words tumbled from her mouth before she was able to form them into coherent sentences, but Caroline continued smoothly, ignoring her daughter's fumbled attempts at speech.

"Your brother and I never had any real interest in books," she said, filling the gap that Gillian could not. "That room was your father's favourite part of this house, and his love of books was always something he could share with you. You might have became rather estranged from us over the years, Gillian… but your father never gave up hope that you would come back one day, and sit with him in his library."

Gillian felt herself shaking, and willed her body to stay upright. "He told you that?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"He didn't have to."

Silence fell between them as Gillian absorbed her mother's words. She'd always felt justified in keeping her family at arm's length; both her parents had come to her wedding, and, because she was a traditionalist, she had asked her father to walk her down the aisle. She'd changed her mind when she realised five minutes before the ceremony that he was drunk. Shouting "I need someone to walk me down the aisle who can walk in a straight line!" she'd run off to ask Stephen to do it, quickly wiped away her tears and adjusted her makeup, and carried on. When he'd made a drunken speech at the reception, she'd gritted her teeth and squeezed Alec's hand and tried to pretend it didn't break her heart to see her father mess things up. Again.

But perhaps she had spent too long focussing on the negative side of her father's life; perhaps all she saw, all she'd ever really seen, outside of the library, was a man who drank too much, swore loudly and flew into a rage when he'd had too many. A man who slept on the sofa as many nights as he did his marital bed. A man who couldn't even stay sober long enough to give his only daughter away at her wedding. And maybe that was the problem; that was all she saw of him, all she thought of him – so that when moments like this crept up on her, moments like the one she'd had in the library, they came as a complete surprise. To feel the touch of her father's humanity, to see evidence of his love for her when she'd worked so hard to shut him out, only increased her guilt.

"I have some more questions." She wiped her tears away quickly and looked at her mother.

Caroline nodded. "I'll put the kettle on."

###

"Where was he living?"

"He had an apartment about thirty miles away, on the coast. You know how much your father liked the sea."

Gillian nodded mutely, wrapping her hands tighter around her cup. She'd always tried not to listen when anyone spoke of her father's love for the ocean; reminded of her own, it always seemed like too much of a link between them.

"Was he with… anyone else?"

She saw her mother flinch slightly, but she kept her cool exterior. "As far as I know, no."

"Did you see him, much?"

"No."

Gillian traced her finger over the rim of her cup. "He called me."

Caroline looked up at her daughter's words, her face impassive. "Oh? When?"

"A few times, over the last few weeks. He left me messages. Said that he wanted to talk to me, wanted to see me." She fought to keep control of her voice, willing it not to crack on every word. "Do you know why? I mean, did he… did he know that he was…"

"Gillian," her mother said softly. "I didn't know that your father was going to die. If he knew he had health problems, he didn't share it with me. But all those years of alcohol abuse… it wasn't exactly a shock that things ended that way for him."

Gillian chewed her lip, placing her cup back on the table without having taken a sip. "I just wish I'd talked to him. I'll never know, now… what it was that he wanted to say."

"No, you won't," Caroline agreed. "But that doesn't mean that you can't move on from this. You have to let it go, Gillian. All of it."

"Where's Stephen?" She knew she was deflecting, knew that trying to block out the truth of her mother's words wouldn't help her, but did it anyway.

"He's out with Johnny and Rob. I think they went down to the beach."

Gillian nodded, then stood up. "I have to go out for a bit. I'll… I'll see you later."

"You haven't drunk your tea," Caroline commented, but her daughter didn't respond. She was out the door without another word, the gentle breeze blowing her hair, the Californian sun warming her face, and an ache in her heart as heavy as a stone.

###

She stood on the edge of the pier, wishing, inexplicably, that the sea wasn't so calm. She had a desperate need to see the waves crashing against the shore, a burning desire to feel connected with the world through the thrusting of the ocean against the beach, an unfulfilled yearning to feel pathetic fallacy in her life as the emotional storm raging inside her was matched by the sea before her. It should be a cruel wind blowing, not a whispering breeze, there should be rain lashing down from angry clouds, not clear blue skies and endless sunshine. And she shouldn't be alone right now. But she was.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Chapter Sixteen

She hadn't planned to stay out so long, but then, she hadn't really planned to return early either. She'd spent the rest of the day walking, mostly; revisiting places from her childhood, drinking milkshakes at her teenage hang outs, watching children on bikes and skateboards and rollerblades, speeding through the day with grins and laughs and shrieks of delight. There seemed little to return to; she couldn't face another difficult conversation with her mother, Stephen was out with his friends, and Cal was gone for the day.

Pulling out her phone, she hesitated only briefly before making the call.

###

"Mom? Did you see my denim jacket?"

"It's on the couch, right where you left it."

Emily was halfway down the stairs when her phone rang. Pulling it out of her pocket, she checked the caller ID, then turned around and headed back to her bedroom. She kicked the door shut and flopped on her bed, flipping open the phone to answer the call.

"Hey Gill."

"Hi, Emily."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart."

"Really? 'Cause you know I can tell when you're lying. Well, sometimes."

Gillian smiled. "Okay. So maybe I'm not 'fine', but… I'm okay."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"I don't know, Em. I really don't."

Emily propped herself up on her elbows, tucking the phone under her chin. "Is your Mom okay?"

"She's… fine." The slight hesitation told Emily not to push it; instead she asked the first question that had sprung to her mind when she saw Gillian's number flashing up on the screen.

"Is Dad with you?"

"Not right now."

"You guys didn't have a fight, did you?" If this were her mother she were talking to, she wouldn't be surprised – she wasn't even sure she'd be too upset – but her father's relationship with Gillian was something that Emily treasured almost as much as he did, and she didn't like the thought of her father doing anything to piss her off. Especially when she was going through such a hard time.

"No, no," Gillian said quickly. "He's off visiting a friend for the day. He's been… really good to me."

Emily smiled. Even though she knew Gillian was going through a hard time at the moment, the fact that her dad was with her to support her was a comfort, to both of them. And Emily knew what she heard in Gill's voice; it was the same thing she saw on her face whenever she spoke about Cal, it was the same look on his face whenever Gillian was around or he was thinking about her. She had no idea why it had taken them so long to admit their feelings for each other, but, at that moment, Emily couldn't help but wonder if the present circumstances were going to push them together at last.

"Well, you can keep him as long as you want him."

Gillian smiled. "Thanks, sweetheart. But we're going to head back Wednesday morning. The funeral's on Tuesday."

Emily swallowed at the word funeral, and for a moment didn't know what to say. She felt she should be offering words of comfort, but what were they? "Okay," she said at last, the inadequacy of the word irritating her. Quickly she changed the subject. "So, has Dad been, like, totally irritating with his obsession over how the company's running without him?"

"No, not really," Gillian said thoughtfully. "I think he's called a couple of times, but…"

"Really? Wow. Don't tell me he's actually letting go of some of his control issues." Emily grinned, but Gillian's voice was quieter and laced with sadness when she replied.

"Maybe."

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about Emily's plans for the rest of the day and what was happening next week at school. At last, Emily had to excuse herself when her friend arrived to take her to the mall; she noticed that Gillian seemed a little more cheerful than she had earlier in the conversation, and she also couldn't help but notice the way her voice rose slightly when she mentioned that Cal would be returning that evening. Emily hung up the phone smiling.

###

It was evening by the time Gillian headed home. Deciding against getting a cab back, she chose instead to walk the long distance from where her wandering feet had taken her back to the house. She'd received a message from Cal, telling her he was just leaving his friend's place and would probably be back in around an hour, and couldn't suppress the slight flutter she felt at seeing him again. Being back in LA, in the house, talking to her mother, seeing the photo in her father's library… everything was a jumble of emotions for her right now, and the one thing that she had to cling onto in the middle of all this mess was Cal. She realised how much she'd missed him in the one day he'd been gone. She shouldn't really be surprised; they saw each other almost every day, and since they'd arrived in California, he'd been such a source of comfort and support to her, it was only natural that she would miss him when he left. But part of her _was _surprised – it was only a day, for goodness sake – wasn't she strong enough and independent enough to last one day without him around? Perhaps she'd underestimated his role in her life; or, rather, she had underestimated how much she _needed _his role in her life.

The darkness had crept up on her, and the sun was almost gone from the sky by the time she neared the house. She approached it with a little more energy in her step; whether it was because she knew Cal would be returning shortly, or whether it was because she was actually ready to face what lay inside she wasn't sure. The truth was, after a day of quiet reflection on her own, she desperately felt in need of company. She realised she wouldn't even mind if that company was her mother, and that thought seemed to provide an extra element of relief; perhaps they really were working through their issues.

She drew nearer the house, then froze halfway down the drive as her eyes alighted on Stephen. He was slumped on the porch swing, swigging whiskey from the bottle. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"Building sandcastles."

"Don't get smart with me, Stephen." She hurried closer, stopping on the bottom step. She suddenly noticed the cigarette in his hand. "Does Mom know you smoke?"

"Nope. Wanna run and tell her?"

She walked up the steps and perched precariously on the edge of the swing. "How long have you been drinking?"

He glanced at his watch. "About twenty minutes."

"You know what I mean."

"You mean, how long have I been an alcoholic? Zero minutes. Because I'm not, okay?"

"Okay."

He took a puff of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a perfect circle. "Want one?" he asked, thrusting the packet towards her.

She made a disgusted face, and he laughed. "Silly question. Goody two shoes Gillian would never do anything naughty like _smoke a cigarette_." He arranged his face into an expression of mock horror, then took another swig from the bottle.

"It's not that, I'd just rather not die from lung cancer, thanks."

"How does liver failure sound to you?" He waved the bottle at her. "Don't tell me you're above having a drink now and again as well?"

"Not tonight, thanks."

"Suit yourself."

"Is this because of Dad?" she asked tentatively.

"Is what because of Dad?"

"The drinking."

"Gillian, for God's sake. A man can have a drink at the end of a long day if he wants to, can't he?"

"I wouldn't exactly say you've had a long day – didn't you spend most of it at the beach with Johnny and Rob?"

He shrugged. "Still entitled to a drink and a smoke at the end of the day, aren't I?"

"How often do you have a drink and a smoke at the end of the day?"

"Oh, Gill, for God's sake. Stop being a therapist for once will you? I'm not one of your bloody patients." He tossed the cigarette on the ground and stamped on it lightly.

"Mom won't thank you for that," she remarked, jerking her head towards the cigarette butt, and he grinned at her.

"No, she probably won't. Nice to know you can still piss your parents off even when you're in your thirties, isn't it?"

"Is that what this is about? Rebelling against Mom's rules?"

"When I was fifteen and I was smoking weed in my bedroom, that was about rebelling against Mom's rules. Drinking and smoking at the age of thirty six is about nothing other than wanting an alcohol and nicotine fix."

She chewed her bottom lip, a gesture that wasn't lost on him. "Still worried, Gill?" He pointed at her mouth. "You always do that when you're worried. Which was pretty much all the time when we were still living here."

"Mom said the same thing," she said, purposefully stopping herself chewing on her lip. "I don't think I was that bad."

"It wasn't always a bad thing. You were organised. Practical. Sensible. Responsible. Everything I wasn't. Everything our parents weren't, really, come to think of it, so it was a good job you were."

"Mom was okay." Gillian felt the need to defend her mother, even though in some arguments she knew she'd find herself taking the opposite side.

"Yep, she was fabulous."

"Does she know you're out here?"

"Probably. Sixth sense mothers have, don't they?"

"Don't you think she'd be out here telling you to come in if she knew?"

"Good point." He grinned and lit another cigarette. "Sure I can't tempt you with a drop?" he asked, proffering the bottle again. She shook her head.

He cocked his head to one side, watching her closely. "Is it because of Dad?"

"What?" she asked, confused that he had thrown her question back at her.

"Do you not drink because of Dad?"

"I do drink. Sometimes. I had a drink at the bar last night, remember? Just not a lot." Her mind flashed back to the meal a couple of nights ago; did Stephen not remember she'd been nursing a hangover when he arrived?

"Fine. Be boring. I can drink alone."

Gillian let out a soft sigh as she settled herself back against the cushion of the swing seat. She used to love sitting out on the porch as a child, especially on clear nights when the millions of stars scattered across the sky all seemed within reach somehow. Now the vastness of the sky seemed more terrifying than comforting; there was so much she didn't know, so much she couldn't do, and the darkness stretching beyond eternity seemed tonight to speak more of regrets than it did of promises.

She wasn't sure how long they sat there, Stephen gently swigging from the bottle and her with her legs pulled up to her chest, hugging her knees as she looked up at the sky, and away from the house. It was the sound of a car that alerted her back to the present; dropping her feet to the floor, she peered down the driveway. As the figure came lumbering up the drive she stood. She'd know that walk anywhere.

"Look, Gill, your boyfriend's home. Make sure Mom doesn't catch you two kissing or she'll ground you for a week."

Ignoring her brother's teasing, Gillian walked down the steps and the drive, closing the distance between them. His arms were open even before she reached him, and he enveloped her without a word. "I'm glad you're back," she whispered in his ear as he held her against him. He didn't reply, but the tightening of his embrace said enough.


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry this chapter has taken ages – I promise to try and update more regularly from now on until this story is finished (as soon as I get back from my holiday). I had intended this chapter to be much longer, but due to computer problems and lots to do before I go away, I've had to cut it off earlier than planned. Sorry! As soon as I get back I'll try and write the rest ;-)

**Disclaimer: Same as always, don't own Lie to Me.**

Chapter Seventeen

Eventually Gillian broke away from the hug and smiled at Cal. He reached to brush a lock of hair off her face, and gave her a questioning look.

"I'm okay." He raised his eyebrows slightly, and she attempted another smile. "Okay, so maybe I'm not completely okay, but… I'm glad you're back."

"Did I miss much?"

They started walking up the drive together, Gillian's arm looped through his.

"I'll fill you in tomorrow," she said, stifling a yawn. "For now… I just really want to sleep. Sorry," she added, and he shook his head.

"Don't apologise. It's late, you're tired; whatever you have to tell me, I'm happy to wait until tomorrow. Quite tired myself, too."

"Oh, how was your friend?" she asked, silently cursing herself for being so self involved. Just because they were back home and staying with her family didn't mean it was all about her; Cal had been to visit an old friend, but as soon as he'd come back they'd been talking about her, and what she needed.

"It was good." He smiled. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

"Okay."

They'd reached the porch, and Cal nodded at Stephen in greeting. "Alright, mate?"

"Fancy a drink?" was Stephen's answer, and Cal glanced at Gillian.

"Asking her for permission?" Stephen teased, and Gillian felt herself tense up, then let out a long, slow breath.

"I'll see you in the morning," she told Cal, silently showing him her acceptance of him drinking with her brother, and he nodded.

"Night, Stephen," she said, stepping up to the door. It was then that she realised she still didn't have a key; she really ought to ask her mother for a spare while they were staying there.

"Here." Stephen tossed something to her, and she caught it.

"Thanks." She was too tired to over-think why Stephen had a key and she didn't; she let herself in, put the door on the catch so Cal could get in later, climbed the stairs, and began to get ready for bed.

###

She was tossing and turning, too restless to sleep. It was hot, and even having kicked off the covers and stripped down to her underwear she was too hot. She got up with a frustrated sigh and crossed to the window, yanking it open. It was only when she sank back onto the mattress that she realised she could now hear Cal and Stephen's voices floating up to her.

"So what's it like, being divorced?"

A pause. "You get used to it."

Another pause. "Seeing anyone else?"

"Not really."

"Oh yeah? What's that mean?" Gillian could hear the playfulness in her brother's voice.

"I'm not seeing anyone special," came Cal's voice clearly, and Gillian realised she was biting her lip.

"So, you and Gill still haven't…" He trailed off, and Gillian could just imagine him making some crude gesture.

She heard Cal laugh. "Your sister is my best friend. You know that."

"Sure." There was another pause, and Gillian imagined the two of them having another drink, or lighting up a cigarette. She really hoped Cal wasn't smoking with her brother. "Wish I had a best friend I fancied. My mates are a bit too hairy for my liking, you know?"

Cal laughed again, but didn't answer.

Gillian stared up at the ceiling, willing her eyes to close. The open window had made the temperature in the room more bearable, but the voices from below were not going to be easy to ignore, and not because they were too loud.

"She needs a decent man in her life," she heard Stephen say, and all of a sudden she couldn't listen anymore. This was eavesdropping, it was a private conversation that she had no right to listen to, even if it was about her, and she didn't want any more to do with it. Getting up quickly, she hurried to the window and quickly pulled it shut, wincing as she heard it bang against the frame in her haste. She locked it, drew the curtain back across, and went back to bed. The room was already becoming stiflingly hot again, but the silence was welcome.

###

Down on the porch, both Cal and Stephen looked up as they heard the window bang shut. Both knew which room it was, and both drew the same possible conclusion. Neither said anything, though, and the topic of conversation shifted to more mundane things until Cal announced it was time for him to retire. Stephen loped off down the road, insisting he would hail a cab rather than calling one, and Cal let himself in, locking the door behind him. Upstairs, he paused briefly outside Gillian's door, straining his ears to hear the sound of her deep, even breathing. But the door was too thick, he couldn't hear anything, and after a few moments he gave up and went to his own room.

###

The first thing Gillian thought when she woke up the next morning was _Monday – what's on the agenda today? _As she opened her eyes and drank in her surroundings, she remembered that she wouldn't be going to work today, which felt strange. She'd had Friday off, of course, but it had sort of felt like a long weekend, and her brain wasn't used to not working on Mondays. She rolled over, looking at the clock by her bed. It was only seven thirty; part of her wanted to go back to sleep, but she'd woken up feeling quite refreshed, and didn't really feel like wasting the day. She could already see the early morning sun streaming in through the window, and could feel a gentle breeze blowing through the room. It felt strange to not be thinking about heading off to work today, and for a second she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. Then she remembered why she wasn't going to work; where she was, what was going to be happening tomorrow, and a fresh wave of emotions surged through her. With sudden decisiveness, she threw back the covers, jumped out of bed and pulled on her robe.

###

Cal usually hated Mondays; they just seemed more depressing than any other day of the week, and he wasn't even sure why. It wasn't like he hated his job – he loved it. But Mondays just seemed to drag on, and he usually found himself grumpier than normal on a Monday morning. Of course, Foster would always try to cheer him up with her sunny smile, gentle teasing or by wearing one of those tight fitting dressing. Actually, he wasn't sure if she wore those with the intention of cheering him up, but it always worked.

Today, of course, was different. No work, but he had a feeling it wasn't going to be an easy day. The funeral was tomorrow, he had no idea what Caroline's plans were for the day, but he knew that he and Gillian needed to talk. Glancing at the clock, he registered the early hour and wondered if Gillian was up yet. Listening carefully, he was sure he could hear the shower running. She probably wouldn't want to talk to him this early, though. If she was up now it was because she wanted to go for an early morning walk or something. But maybe not. _Five more minutes_, he thought, closing his eyes again. _Then I'll get up and see what's going on._

###

She took the key she'd used last night when she left – Stephen's key, but he probably wouldn't need it today. She wondered again why he had a key and she didn't. Logically, she argued that her mother probably didn't have another spare key, or she'd just forgotten to give it to her. But then another voice in her head reminded her that she'd arrived in California before Stephen, so should have been given the key first. And who was it who was actually staying at the house, and was therefore more in need of a key? She let out a frustrated sigh. _Stop overthinking, Gillian, _she told herself, for what seemed like the millionth time in three days. She glanced back at the house briefly, wondering if Cal was awake. She knew they needed to talk today, and she was determined not to dominate the conversation entirely. But it was early, Cal had been up late and would probably welcome a lie in, and there would be plenty of time to talk later. She hesitated for only a second as she looked up at the clear blue sky, and then walked down the drive, determination in her step.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N I started writing this story before Sweet Sixteen when it was established that when Cal met Gillian she was already married; for the purpose of this story, I'm sticking with my original timeline that Cal met Gillian before she married Alec, and that he was at her wedding.

**Disclaimer: Still nothing to do with me.**

Chapter Eighteen

It took her less than half an hour to reach her old school. It looked very different; there was new playground equipment, an extension had been built, and there was a shiny new sign out the front. But parts of the building were the same; the walls she used to trail her fingers along at playtimes, the entrance hall she used to walk through every day, the classrooms she could just glimpse through one of the windows, where she used to sit and learn how to read and write and add and subtract. Of course, she learned a lot more during her time at that school. She learnt that when people whispered about you and gave you funny looks, it wasn't because they were saying anything nice. She learnt that not everyone's father came to pick them up from school clutching a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. She learnt, too, that sometimes, it's better to lie.

###

Cal couldn't quite explain it, but when he woke again – far more than five minutes later – he somehow knew that Gillian wasn't in the house. He didn't believe in a sixth sense or any of that rubbish, but there was an emptiness about the house that settled on him as soon as he opened his eyes. When he knocked lightly on her door twenty minutes later and received no reply, he had his answer. He headed downstairs, following Caroline's instructions to treat the place like home, and made some coffee. Then he settled himself down in the kitchen, and waited.

###

It was almost half past ten when she returned. He heard the key turning in the lock, and was in the hall to meet her almost before she'd got the door fully open. There was no conversation; not with words. He silently agreed to what she was asking him with her eyes, understanding why she didn't want their conversation to take place in the house. Wordlessly he followed her out the door, closing it behind him. As they walked down the driveway he threw an arm over her shoulder, saw the sting of tears in her eyes, and pulled her a little closer. And waited, for her to be ready.

###

Most of the time she was talking, Cal didn't say a word. She told him about the library, a disjointed chronology to her narrative as she occasionally flicked back to stories of spending time there with her father when she was a child. She told him about finding the photo, and he watched the guilt and shame emanate from her in waves. He bit his lip, thinking now wasn't the time to start a verbal attack of her father, even if it was in defence of her. She finished by telling him about the conversation with her mother; about her father's request when he left.

"He wanted me to come back, Cal. For the library. It was... important, important to him, and it was important to me, once, and..." She trailed off, shaking her head, eyes bright with tears. "What if I misjudged him, all this time? What if he was more deserving of my forgiveness, of my compassion?"

He took his time preparing his answer. Although he could tell her eyes were on him, waiting, he kept his gaze locked on the boats bobbing on the water, on the point where sky met sea, on the lazy patterns the clouds were trailing through the expanse of blue. At last he turned to her, and saw her intake of breath. She looked so vulnerable, so fragile, and so utterly beautiful. Reaching up, he gently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Your father made a lot of mistakes, love."

"Everybody makes mistakes, Cal. No one's perfect." Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear her. "Maybe my mistake was clinging to my idealistic fantasy of what a father should be – constantly cheerful, giving big bear hugs and wanting nothing more than to play ball in the street or teach his kid how to ride a bike. But that's only one definition of a father. I spent three decades punishing my father for not being perfect. Don't you think that's something to feel guilty about?"

"No, I don't. You had every right to want a father who showed you love and affection, and wanted to spend time with you, and it wasn't your fault when that man failed to materialise. And it wasn't because you didn't deserve him – it was simply because he didn't exist. Would he have been a better man – a better father – without the drink? Maybe. Probably. But that's irrelevant, because the drinking was part of who he was, part of why he failed you. He chose it – chose it over his family. And that was his decision, not yours."

"But he wasn't always like that." Her mind flickered to the library, her father's books, the quiet man who inhabited that place and how different he was from the man outside of those four walls. "We shared moments, in the library, when I was a child... and for a long time I believed that that was who he was, that the other part of him would just disappear and I'd be left with the father I wanted."

"Didn't disappear though, did it?"

She shook her head weakly. "But he was sick, Cal. His drinking, it was... it was an illness, and I punished him for it. I should have made him get help, I should have supported him, I should have..."

"You were a child. It wasn't your job to fix him."

She tore her gaze from him, looking out at the sea. They were sat on a bench at a lookout point, a quiet one that Gillian loved because she knew most tourists didn't go there. Cal was slouched on the bench, legs outstretch, arms flung wide. In comparison she was sat upright, but he recognised that her posture wasn't quite as straight as usual, that her hands were twitching nervously in her lap, that she didn't look relaxed or professional or any of the things he usually saw from her, but something else entirely.

"He's my father, Cal. He... he _was _my father." She swallowed quickly, trying to keep her tears at bay. "Maybe I was too judgemental, of his drinking..."

He had to intervene quickly here; no way was he going to let her think she'd over-reacted to her father's alcoholism. "I saw him at your wedding, love. He was drunk before the ceremony. And don't think I didn't see how much that hurt you."

She swallowed. "I know. But... does that mean he didn't care? Just because he loved the drink, that doesn't mean that he didn't love me, right?"

His heart ached at the pain in her voice, at the vulnerability on her face and the way her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him, seeking reassurance that he was unqualified to give, really.

"I'm sure he did love you," he whispered, gathering her in his arms. "Who could know you and not love you?"

She didn't reply; he sensed the conversation was over, and right now she needed to settle in the silence. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he tightened his grip on her, closing his eyes and praying to a God that he wasn't even sure he believed in that this remarkable woman that he cared so much about would be able to get through this.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I still don't own them**

Chapter Nineteen

It was early afternoon by the time they arrived back at the house; briefly, it registered that she hadn't eaten lunch, and accompanying her hunger pangs and surprise at missing a meal came guilt that Cal hadn't eaten either. She wasn't sure how long they'd sat there, sometimes quietly, sometimes talking. They'd talked about a number of things; Emily, home, the weather. Occasionally she'd offered up a little more about her father, but mostly she kept the lid on that box closed. Tomorrow was the funeral, and she knew she'd have a whole new lot of emotions to deal with; right now, she wanted peace, and quiet, and a good friend by her side who respected that.

As they approached the house, Gillian was surprised to see an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway. Cal raised his eyebrows at her, silently questioning if she knew the owner, and she shook her head. Whether her mother had seen them coming or not, Gillian didn't know, but the door opened as they approached, and Caroline stood there with a smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes. Not even close.

"Gillian," she said. "A friend of yours is here. She's come to pay her respects to your father, and to see you."

Gillian felt a knot tightening in her stomach as she approached. There was no doubt the 'friend' was not someone she would want to see; so who was it?

"If you want some privacy, love, when you meet your friend," Cal murmured as they walked towards the living room, but she shook her head firmly, reaching out her hand to grasp his.

"No. Stay. Please."

"Okay." He gave her hand a squeeze. "Whatever you want."

Gillian lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and walked into the room as purposefully as she could. As she did, her visitor rose to greet her, and Gillian felt like she'd just been punched in the stomach.

"Gillian!" She was a couple of inches taller than Gillian, with short, immaculately styled, wavy blonde hair, too much makeup and clothes that signified appearances were _everything_. And that she had lots of money, was Cal's next deduction. The woman's arms were wrapped around Gillian as she uttered her greeting, and Gillian forced herself not to pull away sharply. "I was _so _sorry to hear about your father. Terrible news, you poor thing."

"Georgina." Gillian found her voice at last, although it didn't sound anything like her. "You didn't have to come. Really."

"Well, I haven't seen you for years! I've read all your books, you know – I'm a big fan of your work."

Gillian swallowed. "Thank you. That's... very kind."

Georgina sat down on the sofa, pulling Gillian with her, then looked up at Cal. "You must be Gillian's friend." She stood up again, offering her hand to Cal and smiled at him, showing her perfect white teeth. "Caroline told me about you. You've been very supportive of Gillian."

"Yes," he said guardedly, glancing at Gillian.

"I'll make some more tea," came Caroline's voice, and Gillian realised she'd forgotten her mother was even in the room. She leant back against the sofa, trying to stop a kaleidoscope of images swirling through her brain.

"So, Gillian. Tell me about Washington. It sounds like you have a wonderful life there."

"The... company's doing... okay," she answered lamely, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Your mother mentioned you were divorced," Georgina whispered, as though someone were going to overhear. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Gillian gave her a tight smile. "These things happen."

"Don't they just! It seems everyone is getting divorced these days." Georgina placed her hands on her knee, the angle clearly showing her glittering engagement ring and wedding ring, and Cal felt a dart of annoyance at the way she was trying to show off the success of her marriage in comparison to the failure of Gillian's. _And she's supposed to be a bloody friend..._

Gillian, though, didn't even let her eyes fall on Georgina's ring, and Cal felt both a flash of glee and pride at the way she refused to play Georgina's game.

"So, you... haven't been back to LA much," Georgina said, and Gillian shook her head. "I never left... well, I should say I never moved away. I have travelled the world, quite extensively. Isn't there a lot to see?"

"Isn't there just," Gillian muttered, looking up as her mother entered with a tray of tea.

"George and I do a lot of travelling," she continued. "Oh – that's my husband!" She gave a tinkling laugh. "Yes, I'm not Georgina Bates anymore – and you're not Dixon! Isn't it funny how I married someone called George, when my name is Georgina? It always amuses people."

"Hilarious," Gillian muttered, forcing another smile that Cal was amazed Georgina couldn't see through.

"Well, Georgina." Caroline sat herself in the chair opposite the woman. "It was so nice of you to call in." She started pouring tea for them all, but the tone of her words clearly suggested she didn't want Georgina to stay. Gillian felt a sudden rush of love for her mother – tinged with annoyance that she'd mentioned her divorce, but still – for wanting to get rid of the woman she knew was upsetting her daughter.

"Oh, I had to see Gillian. It's been far too long!" She reached for a cup of tea with one hand, and gave Gillian's arm a quick squeeze with the other. "We never really kept in touch after school."

"Oh, so you two went to school together?" Cal supposed it was obvious; they looked around the same age, (although Gillian had aged far better than Georgina, he thought), and since she'd left LA aged eighteen, most of the friends – if that was the word for it – she'd left behind were likely to be people she knew from school.

"Yes, we did!" Georgina smiled at Gillian again. "She was always the clever one, studying so hard. I was too busy partying to pick up a book. You know, if you hadn't help me cram for that American History test, I swear Robertson would've failed me and I'd have ended up at summer school instead of partying in Miami!"

Cal watched as Gillian's hand curled into a fist in her lap, saw how she bit her lip, made her mouth stretch although there was no light in her eyes to make the smile real. He listened for another fifteen minutes as Georgina talked about school, and her success afterwards; how rich her husband was, how big her house was, how many parties she'd thrown this year.

"There's always so much to do, I have a lot of charity work that I'm involved in as well," she explained. "It's just lucky that George and I don't have children to clutter up the place!"

At that, Gillian's face darkened, and she rose quickly. "I'm sorry, Georgina, I have things to do," she said, her voice quivering so slightly Cal was sure only he had noticed. Although one glance at Caroline made him think that wasn't actually the case.

"Oh." Georgina nodded, standing up also. "Yes, of course. You must be very busy. Well, I'm sorry I can't make it to the funeral tomorrow, prior commitments, you know... I'm sure it will be a lovely service, again, my condolences to the whole family. You'll extend my regards to Stephen?" she asked Caroline, who nodded curtly.

"Thank you for calling in, Georgina." She was polite, but without any warmth; that, though, was quite usual for Caroline, although Cal couldn't help detecting a fair amount of resentment on Caroline's part.

Georgina wished them all another goodbye, telling Cal how nice it was to meet him, and he managed to throw the words back at her without, he was fairly certain, sounding too sarcastic. Caroline escorted her to the door, and he watched Gillian sink back down on the sofa and close her eyes as her mother's final farewells to their visitor floated through from the hall.

"You okay, love?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes closed, and Cal was about to speak again when Caroline reappeared. "Well, wasn't that a delightful little visit?" She picked up the tea tray and headed towards the kitchen, humming loudly. "I'll leave you two alone, plenty for me to be doing in the kitchen," she called over her shoulder, and managed to close the door with her foot while clutching the tray.

There was a moment's silence before Cal spoke again. "Well, love, I can see why you're not a fan of Miss Bates – or Mrs whatever she is now."

Gillian opened her eyes and shook her head, her shoulders crumpling as she felt a tear start to slide down her face. "No, Cal," she whispered. "You have no idea why I hate Georgina Bates."

He leant forward, angling his head to catch better sight of her eyes. "What, love? What did she do to you?"

"I shouldn't even... I mean, it was so long ago, it's..." She shook her head. "I don't think about it much anymore, really. I don't know why it... affected me, so much, seeing her again, I just..."

"I'm sure it's a valid reason." He waited patiently for her to elaborate.

Eventually she took a deep breath, and lifted her eyes to meet his. "My... boyfriend, at school... my first boyfriend..."

"Ah." Cal nodded in understanding. "She stole your first boyfriend."

"She didn't just..." Gillian was struggling to find the words to explain; somehow she felt that the message conveyed was that her boyfriend had merely dumped her for Georgina, which seemed a ridiculous thing to be upset about over twenty years later. "He was my... my first... you know." She looked away, but knew that Cal had understood. "Anyway, he... I thought we were..." She wiped at her eyes crossly, irritated that she could still get upset about this. Rationally, she told herself it was because she was so emotional and vulnerable at the moment, which made her over-sensitive; she felt half the time as though she would cry if she spilt soda on her dress, so perhaps it wasn't too ridiculous to be emotional about past grievances.

"And he cheated on you, with her?" She noticed the anger in Cal's voice, and offered him a half smile. He was sweet to feel indignant about something that had happened so long ago.

"Yes," she whispered. "And..." She cast her eyes down again, playing with a loose thread on her blouse. "She got pregnant."

He exhaled loudly. "I see. Well, I... wait a minute. Georgina said she didn't have any children."

"I know." Gillian nodded. "She got... she had an abortion." It was almost like she couldn't say the words 'got rid of it'; they just weren't words that could fall naturally from Gillian Foster's lips. "I hated that baby." She covered her mouth with her hand, still keeping her eyes away from Cal's. "When I found out she was pregnant... I mean, I didn't want a baby, not then, but... she shouldn't have been pregnant with my boyfriend's baby! And then she... it was gone, and... a baby, Cal! It was an innocent baby, and it didn't deserve that, or my resentment of it..."

She felt Cal move and sit next to her on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her to pull her close. "It's alright love," he said, kissing her forehead as he held her shaking body against his. "That's all in the past now, it doesn't matter." He stroked her hair as she sobbed quietly against him. After a few moments he heard the click of the door; glancing up, he saw Caroline peering at them from the kitchen. He was about to say something; to try to convey, somehow, that Gillian needed some more time alone, but he didn't have to. She drank in the image of them with their arms wrapped around each other for only a few seconds before closing the door quietly, leaving them to their moment of hurt and comfort. But not before flashing an expression Cal read, but did not fully understand: happiness.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Gillian lost count of the number of times she awoke in the night; she didn't even bother to check the clock, just noticed that after about the fifth or sixth time it was starting to get light, and after about the eleventh or twelfth the light seeping through the windows seemed strong enough to convince her that she should get out of bed. But she didn't.

She remembered mornings as a teenager when she didn't want to get up – sleeping until noon on weekends; burying her head under the pillow some mornings when her mother was shouting at her to hurry up or she'd be late for school; pulling the duvet over her head and trying to block out the memories on mornings that followed a night of excessive drinking by her father or screaming from her parents.

Now here she was again, lying in her old bed, wanting to close her eyes and feel the world - and all the reasons why she should get up – just melt away. And it wasn't because she was tired from staying up late studying or partying with her friends, it wasn't because she didn't want to go to school and face her ex-boyfriend, it wasn't because she was filled with dread about walking down the stair, stepping carefully over broken glass and wondering what she was going to find in the next room. It was because today was the day she was going to have to say goodbye to her father for good. And she just wasn't sure she knew how to do that.

###

She felt strangely numb as she eventually rose, showered and dressed, then stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a simple black dress and a necklace that her parents had bought her on her twenty first birthday. She wasn't even sure why she was getting ready so early, the funeral wasn't until 2pm and it was barely 9am now, but wearing anything else seemed false, somehow. She couldn't even really explain it, but since today was the day she was going to watch her father's coffin slide behind a curtain and disappear forever, wearing anything other than black seemed like a strange sort of betrayal.

She brushed her hair slowly, gently replacing the brush before taking a shaky breath. Opening the bedroom door, she slipped out quietly. She could hear voices downstairs, but walked further down the corridor to the library, where she knew she'd be alone. She didn't want to speak to anyone right now; couldn't really. What was there to say?

###

As much as Cal knew Gillian needed his support today, he couldn't help feeling slightly awkward in Caroline's house on the morning of the funeral. It wasn't his house, it wasn't his family, and just being there as family members gathered and began discussing the deceased, made him wish he could withdraw until Gillian arrived, and just be there for her if she needed him. He hadn't seen her all morning, and wasn't about to go looking for her. She'd come to him when she was ready, if his presence today was what she required. And if it wasn't, he'd accept that. Today was about her, and her family, and as much as he felt sometimes that he _was _family to her, compared to Caroline, Stephen and the people now gathered in the house, he wasn't.

Caroline had introduced him to William's brother, James, his wife Rebecca and their sons, Sam and Michael. They were staying at a hotel, but had come to the house before the service, at Caroline's request, and were now sitting in the living room drinking tea while Caroline spoke to someone on the phone.

They were more than polite; enquiring about Cal's relationship with the family (although Caroline had introduced him as "Gillian's very close friend", with heavy emphasis on _close_), whether or not he'd known William, and then moving the conversation onto the kind of work Cal did, and how good it was of him to come all this way with Gillian.

He skirted around exactly what he did for work, explaining that he worked with Gillian and leaving it at that. If they knew the details of her work and from that deduced what he did, they didn't say, and he tried hard to avoid looking at them too closely; he didn't want to be reading people today, it wasn't his place.

Caroline made lunch, and the boys played outside, and shortly before one Stephen arrived. The first thing he did was ask where Gillian was; as Cal opened his mouth to say he didn't know but assumed she was still in her bedroom, Caroline replied "she's in the library." Cal closed his mouth soundlessly, reached for another sandwich and sat back in his chair.

Without a word Stephen was heading up the stairs, and Caroline glanced at the clock. "We're leaving in twenty minutes," she called to his retreating figure, and he made an indecipherable noise to show he'd heard, and understood.

As Caroline excused herself to go and finish getting ready, Cal was struck by how little she was giving away. Not that he was trying to read her, but her calm expression was so firmly fixed in place, he found it hard to see what lay beneath.

"What'll they do with the ashes, I wonder?" James asked suddenly, and Rebecca flashed him a _Don't talk about such things _look. "Well," he said, "I'm just wondering. He chose to be cremated instead of being buried in the family plot. What are they going to do with them? Him," he corrected, looking suddenly awkward, then looked to Cal as if he held the answer. "Gillian going to scatter them somewhere, do you think? With Stephen? I doubt Caroline... I mean..."

"James," his wife said, a slight warning tone to her voice, and Cal took another sip of his drink in an attempt to avoid being brought into this conversation, verbal or otherwise.

"I'm just saying, they're divorced. And it's good of her to organise all this, but..." He shrugged. "I shouldn't really care. William and I weren't close, were we?"

"You didn't see much of your brother then?" He couldn't help asking; curiosity was one of his many weaknesses, and he was desperate to peel back as many layers as he could of Gillian's family, and reach the heart of it all somehow.

"We hadn't spoken in years. We had our... differences of opinion," he said tightly, flashing anger that was immediately replaced by sadness. "But he was my brother," he said softly. "I'm here for him today, no matter what."

"It's a pity death has to be the thing to draw people back together; when it's too late for apologies and appeasements." He wasn't thinking of James when he said this, of course. He was thinking of someone else who'd been drawn back into her old life because of death, who had to confront ghosts from her past she might not be ready to face, who wanted excuses and explanations and a million other things that she'd now lost the chance to get.

He was so busy thinking about her he barely noticed her arrival; it was only when James stood and Rebecca asked, "is it time?" that he saw her standing in the doorway, her brother's arm around her waist.

"Mom's just coming," Stephen answered, and his aunt walked to the door while her husband went to collect the boys from outside.

"Gill." He caught her arm as she turned, and Stephen walked into the hallway without her, leaving them alone in the room. "I don't have to come today, you know. If you want it to be just family and friends... I get that. You've got Stephen to look after you, you know, and if you'd prefer me to just..."

"No." She gripped his arm tightly, her eyebrows pulling together in fear. "Come. Please." She was irritated that proper sentences seemed beyond her at this moment, and that all she could muster were single words, but it was enough. Her expression without words would have been enough with Cal, and for that she was extremely grateful. She wanted to explain that she needed him there; that his presence alone was enough to give her some comfort; that her family, although important, provided a different level of understanding; that she didn't think she'd be able to get through the day without her best friend by her side. She wanted to say it all, but she couldn't, at least not in words. But with Cal, she didn't have to.

"Okay, darling," he said, stroking her back with one hand as he used the other to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll be there for you."

She merely nodded, hoping somehow she could convey her appreciation and gratitude, but finding she didn't have the energy to really try. His hand fell to her lower back, and he guided her gently out the door, ready to face whatever lay before them this afternoon. Together.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

"Your aunt and uncle seem nice," Cal commented as they walked down the drive. Gillian nodded. "He's quite a bit younger than your dad."

She nodded again. "Eight years. Having the kids makes him seem younger, though." She looked over at her cousins, thirteen year old Michael walking confidently behind his father, while Sam, two years younger, trailed behind with his mother. "Rebecca's ten years younger than him. She's closer to my age than my mother's."

Cal nodded. "You don't see them much?"

"Not as much as I'd like."

The flash of guilt he saw on her face tugged at his heart, and he clamped his mouth shut, determined not to ask any more questions that would make Gillian feel like that. He could stand there all day and tell her that none of this was her fault, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. How many times had she told him that he wasn't to feel guilty about his mother's suicide? Had he ever really listened or believed those words?

There was silence as they climbed into the car and drove to the church. Cal noticed Gillian's breathing hitch slightly as the car rolled to a gentle stop, but she didn't say a word, and nor did he. A few people were mingling outside, and Caroline made a show of greeting most of them, thanking them for coming. Cal heard Gillian mutter something under her breath but he couldn't catch the words.

They'd only been outside a few moments when the minister came out, beckoning everyone inside. Wordlessly Cal reached for Gillian's hand and she took it, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Then, slowly, they started to filter into the church.

###

As she sat in the church, listening to the minister talk about the tragedy of her father's death, Gillian thought about many things. She remembered happy moments from her childhood that she'd pushed to the back of her mind, because walking away is easier if you pretend you're leaving nothing behind that's worth having. She thought about the calls her father had made to her, asking her to speak to him, and she wondered what it was he had wanted to say. Did he have answers, did he have apologies, did he just want to hear her voice again one last time? She looked at the coffin, poised to slide behind the curtain, and swallowed hard. She'd thought, many times over the years, that she might never see her father again. But she thought that would happen in a world in which he still existed; that it would be _her _decision not to see him, and, should she ever revoke that decision, all she would have to do was go and see him, and he'd be there. And now she couldn't. The minister's voice continued, but his words didn't sink in. She could only think about all the years she had spent waiting to be ready to face him again, all the time she'd spent hoping that one day she would _want _to be reunited with him, all the hope she had stored up somewhere inside her that there would come a time when the past wouldn't matter, and they could somehow make everything okay. And now she was having to face the fact that that was never going to happen. She was having to say her final goodbye, long before she was ready to. That, she thought, was the real tragedy. Not that her father had died, but that he had died before she was ready to let him go. She thought of all the time they'd spent reading in his library; of how he'd left the library for her, hoping she'd return to it one day. And now he was gone. He'd closed the book before she had finished reading the last chapter, and she didn't know what she was going to do about that.

###

It was tempting to look away when the coffin began to move; who could blame a woman for not wanting to see her father's coffin going behind a curtain to be cremated? But Gillian felt she'd spent too long looking away. Now was the time she had to be strong; now was the time she had to face the truth, however painful it was. She squeezed Cal's hand, wishing she could convey everything she felt to him in that second. She didn't just want the warmth of his touch because it made her feel better – she wanted to hold his hand to _show _him that he made her feel better, to make him understand that she couldn't have got through this, any of this, without him. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in response, stroking his thumb lightly over her cool skin, and she suddenly remembered how, a few nights ago in his office, she'd told him that she didn't need him to come back home with her, that she could do this on her own. How wrong she'd been.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two

For all the hours she'd spent thinking about the funeral, it seemed to go by very quickly. When the service itself was over, Gillian found herself back at the house, although she couldn't actually remember the car journey back. The caterers her mother had organised had set up tables of food in the living room, and people quickly began helping themselves and discussing things which Gillian was sure were nothing to do with her father.

"These people," she said to Cal. "They're not here for my father. They're here for my mother. I doubt they even liked him."

"Perhaps. But if they want to show your mother some support on a difficult day, that's a sign of friendship, isn't it?"

"I thought I knew them..." She could tell from the look on Cal's face that he didn't understand what she meant, and she struggled to find the words to explain. "Jeremy and Linda Collins. Faith Johnson. Paul West. Adam and Jacqueline Montgomery." She pointed at each person as she said their names. "These are people from my childhood, Cal. People I grew up with. These were the people who came to dinner parties at our house. They stood in my living room sipping champagne from expensive glass flutes, making polite conversation, turning their head the other way and pretending they couldn't hear my father throwing up in the bathroom." She let her gaze wander around the room a little longer. "I used to hate them. I hated their false niceties. I hated the fact that everything about them was false; their concern for my mother, their supposed interest in the small talk they made, their compliments of each other's outfits. I hated that ninety per cent of what came out of their mouths was a lie. I could see it; I could see they were faking every emotion, every word – but that doesn't mean I could see the truth beneath."

"And what's that, love?" he asked, intrigued.

"That they were lost. That they were so desperate to succeed, to feel loved, to feel like they belonged, that they were willing to immerse themselves in a world where every 'lovely to see you, darling!' was accompanied by the thought 'you bitch.' I used to look at them and see people with no personality, little humanity, few morals. Now I look at them, twenty years on but still living the same lives, and I just see lonely people. And it makes me sad."

He touched her arm lightly. "That's because you're a good person."

"I look at these people… and you know what I feel?" Sadness and guilt washed over her face. "I feel… pleased, and… _proud_, that I didn't end up leading this life. That I was able to step away from it all, that I didn't end up like them, like… like my mother."

The sound of a glass being placed down made them both turn around, and Gillian felt her face colour. "Mom," she said. "I was just…"

"Please don't insult me with excuses, Gillian. Or apologies. You have every right to feel that way, but perhaps you could choose a better time to insult my friends – such as when they're not in the room?"

Gillian opened her mouth to reply, but her mother was already on the other side of the room, talking to one of her friends from the tennis club. Gillian looked at Cal, who gave her a sympathetic "what can you do?" shrug. She sighed heavily, sinking down on the sofa and wishing the cushion could just swallow her whole.

###

It was about an another hour before the guests had all left; most wanted to offer their condolences again to Gillian, but she merely nodded and replied with stock phrases, offering little in the way of conversation. She didn't know where Cal had disappeared to, or Stephen. When her mother went to escort the last guest out the front door, Gillian sat back down on the sofa, staring at her glass as she gently ran her finger over the rim. When she felt someone sit beside her a few minutes later she assumed it was Cal; instead, it was her mother's voice she heard in her ear.

"I'm not going to pretend today is easy, Gillian. For either of us."

She turned to her mother, incredulity written all over her face. "Mom," she said, shaking her head, "that's all you've _ever _done."

Caroline didn't answer her daughter. Instead she reached for her hand, and brought it to rest in her lap.

Gillian swallowed. The simple gesture of comfort was natural and motherly, and unlike the displays of affection her mother usually showed, which were mostly theatrical hugs and over the top kisses. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and a few seconds later her mother offered her a tissue. She put her glass down and took the tissue with the hand her mother wasn't still holding onto. "Mom... what I said..." She dabbed at her eyes. "I didn't mean..."

"It's alright, Gillian," she said quietly, patting her hand.

"No, it's not. I shouldn't have said what I did, about not being you, it was..."

"Gillian." Her mother fixed her with a look that was firm, yet betrayed a softness beneath. "I'm glad you didn't turn into me either."

Gillian cast her eyes downward and took a shaky breath. "Maybe I did."

"No you didn't."

"I..."

"Gillian. Look at me," Caroline commanded, and Gillian slowly lifted her eyes to meet her mother's penetrating gaze.

"You think that because you married an addict you are like me? Nonsense." She brushed a tear delicately from her daughter's cheek. "You walked away from a relationship that wasn't right for you, which is something I never had the strength to do."

"But Dad..."

"He left me."

"He _left_?" Gillian stared at her mother. "What... I mean... he... but you..."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Caroline said smoothly, ignoring Gillian's jumbled speech. "It was wrong of me, like many other things I have done in my life. I've made a lot of mistakes, Gillian, and I made a lot of them in the way I mothered you. But I must have done something right, because – well, look at you." She tucked a lock of hair behind her daughter's ear, smiling gently. "You're spectacular."

Gillian sniffed, shaking her head. "I've made a lot of mistakes too. My marriage failed... I don't have children..."

"That is not your fault, nor does it in any way make you a failure," her mother told her firmly. "Do you hear me, Gillian? You have many reasons to be proud of your life, and I have many reasons to be proud of you. And I am. So was your father."

Gillian nodded, still a little numb with the shock of her mother's revelation. "I'm sorry I haven't seen you more... or called..." She bit her lip, fighting back more tears. "I feel like I lost Dad a long time ago, and then when he died I lost the chance to ever find him again. I don't want that to happen with us."

"It won't, Gillian."

"But Mom..." She tucked the tissue into her pocket, and clasped her hands over her mother's. "Look at us. We barely speak. These last few days have been awkward and strained and..."

"And we're both grieving, in very different ways, for a man who dominated our lives, again in very different ways. There are no easy answers, Gillian, there are no miracle cures. But I am going to try and be more honest with you in future. And anything that you feel you want to do – you do. Whether that means calling or visiting more, or not. It's up to you."

She nodded, her breathing evening out a little. She felt like she had a million things to say to her mother, but at the same time, she felt there was nothing she had to say that her mother didn't already know, or hadn't somehow picked up on already.

"I think..." Gillian lifted her hands from her mother's after a few minutes of silence. "I think I'm going to go and finish packing, and go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day, flying back and..."

"Of course." Caroline stood up as her daughter did, and the two surveyed each other for a moment.

"I wanted to ask..." Gillian trailed off, not even wanting to say the words but finding she didn't have to.

"The ashes," Caroline supplied, and she nodded.

"I don't know if you... or if Stephen, or Uncle James... I haven't..."

"It should be you," Caroline told her, gently but firmly. "If you want it to be you, Gillian, just you, then it can be. You could do it tomorrow before you leave, or take them with you to scatter back in DC. I don't mind."

Gillian nodded, feeling a lump rising in her throat again. "Here," she managed eventually. "I'll... I'll do it here, in California. It has to be here."

Caroline nodded. "We'll sort it out in the morning, Gillian. For now, you should get some rest."

Gillian nodded, and began walking slowly towards the door. "Night, Mom," she whispered when she reached the open doorway.

"Goodnight, Gillian," her mother replied, as her only daughter exited the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

###

Caroline had just finished tidying up when she heard a knock at the front door. She glanced quickly at the clock, although she already had an idea who was on the other side.

"Sorry," he said when she opened the door. "Don't have a key."

"Hi, Cal," she said, opening the door wider to let him in. "I won't ask where you went."

"I wouldn't tell if you did," he said, giving her a brief smile. "No, I just thought I'd let you and Gillian have a bit of privacy, you know. Don't want me always around when you're trying to sort out family stuff."

"I appreciate that," she said as she walked into the living room, him following. When they got inside the room both stopped, and Caroline turned to meet his expectant gaze. After a minute's silence she answered his unspoken question. "I told her," she said simply, and he nodded.

"She needed to know."

"Yes." Her eyes bore into his as she spoke. "That's not the only thing she needs to know."

He returned her gaze, but she merely lifted an eyebrow at him. "Where is she?" he asked eventually.

"Upstairs. I think she's asleep."

He nodded. "Time for me to retire too, I think. Goodnight, Caroline."

She watched him walk into the hall and up the stairs. "Goodnight, Cal," she replied quietly, before going to the liquor cabinet to pour herself a drink, and make a final toast to her late husband.


	23. Chapter 23

Thanks to divakat for allowing me to steal and adapt her idea for part of this chapter :-)

Chapter Twenty Three

Cal paused outside Gillian's room, his fingers brushing lightly over the wood of the door. He imagined she was sleeping and wasn't going to disturb her, but he couldn't just walk to his own room without stopping outside hers, although he couldn't really explain to himself why. He was about to move away when he heard a soft voice from the other side of the door.

"Cal?"

"Yeah," he answered automatically, confused as to how she'd known he was there.

"Come in," she invited, her voice betraying weariness, and he gently pushed open the door and stepped inside. She was in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her eyes red rimmed and heavy.

"Hey, love," he said, quietly shutting the door behind him and walking towards her. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush his hand lightly across her cheek. "You okay?"

"No," she whispered, and he nodded.

"Right. Stupid question. Sorry."

"It's okay. I will be. I just... I don't really want to talk right now."

"Okay." He bent to press a kiss to her forehead, giving her a gentle smile as he stood up. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Cal." She reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. He placed his hand over hers as he waited for her to speak. "I can't... I don't..." She looked like a small, frightened child, and he felt a fierce longing to protect her, an intense desire to ease her pain and a desperate need to be near her, and just look after her. "I don't want to be alone," she told him, her voice soft, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Can you... stay?"

"Of course I can," he said, and she lifted up the covers on his side. He removed his shoes and jacket, then slid in beside her.

She turned so she was facing away from him, but wriggled slightly until her back was pressed against his chest, and pulled his arm around her waist to hold her tightly. "Thank you," she whispered, letting out a shaky breath.

He curled his body around hers, holding her with one arm while he used his other hand to gently stroke her hair, long after she'd fallen asleep.

###

He knew, even before he opened his eyes, that she was gone. It wasn't just that he could feel she wasn't in his arms anymore; he could tell that she wasn't even in the house. He didn't have to wonder where she was. He knew, just like he knew it was something she had to do alone. He just hoped she'd be okay.

###

It was a beautiful day; the sky was the perfect shade of blue, with tendrils of clouds, as fluffy as cotton wool, blowing gently in a soft breeze. The sun was bright but not blinding, and the air was warm without being too humid.

Gillian stood on the hill that she knew had been a favourite place of her father's. From here, depending on which way you were facing, you could see the city and the ocean. "Two worlds," he'd always said. "And we get to be a part of both of them." Now, he was going to be a part of everything, although she supposed that depended on your beliefs.

She stood for almost ten minutes, the urn in her hands, before she spoke.

"Hi Dad." She traced the lid gently, then looked up. She wasn't going to address her father as ashes in a pot; she was going to talk to the trees, and the sky, and the wind. She was going to speak to the whole world, and hope her voice was strong enough to carry to wherever he was. "I wish I wasn't speaking to you again like this... a one sided conversation that you'll only hear if there's an afterlife, or if I believe in one. There's things I would say to you if you were here now, questions I have that I'd want you to answer, but now you can't. If I'd answered your calls, if I'd just called you back like you asked, then I'd know what it was you wanted to tell me." She paused, biting her lip lightly as she felt tears starting to pool in her eyes, then continued, determined to get the words out. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry I never... I didn't have the strength then, to talk to you, and now it's too late for the conversation you wanted. So this is it, this is all we've got."

She felt the breeze start to pick up, blowing tendrils of her hair loose from her ponytail, but she didn't attempt to push them off her face.

"I'm not going to think about the things that drove me away, the things that drove us apart. I've spent a lifetime defining our relationship by the mistakes we made... I don't want to do that anymore." She lifted her eyes up even higher, watching strands of clouds glide gently across the sky. "I went to the library. Mom told me you left it for me. I found my books. I found the picture from my graduation." The tears were spilling freely now, but she kept her hands firmly around the urn instead of wiping them away. "I'm sorry I shut you out, Dad. I know it wasn't all my fault, and if you were here right now maybe you'd be apologising too. But you're not, so... this is all we have. Me, talking to you. Hoping that you can hear me, somehow."

She took a shaky breath, feeling knots in her stomach loosen with every word of the truth she released into the warm air. "If I had come to see you..." She trailed off, then gently began again. "Maybe I would have hurled angry words at you, maybe I would have shrunk away from your touch, maybe I would have stood on the other side of the door for an eternity, and never mustered the courage to knock. Or maybe you would have found the words, and I would have let them in, and we would have taken the first step on a path that could lead us to somewhere better. I don't know. We'll never know."

Her words reminded her of something, and she closed her eyes as she continued to speak. "Do you remember my favourite part in Alice in Wonderland?" She opened her eyes again, looking at the clouds. "It's when Alice is talking to the cat, about which way she should go. The cat says that it depends on where she wants to go to; Alice says that she doesn't care where she goes, and the cat tells her that in that case, it doesn't matter which way she goes. All she has to do to get somewhere is just keep walking for long enough. I think I've finally figured out what that means, Dad. I never knew where we were going to end up, I couldn't imagine our final scene, and now that I know it, I don't want to. Because the last time I saw you I was angry, and I was upset, and I was walking away from you." Her speech became less clear through her tears, and she took a moment to compose herself. "That was the direction I was going in, Dad. Anywhere away from you. So I would like to think of this, now, as being our final chapter. Because even though you're not here with me, I want to remember this day. I want to remember that the sun was shining, and that the sky was blue, and that I came to your favourite place and I let you go. You can be free now, Dad. Of whatever demons that were haunting you in this life; you can be free of them now."

Slowly she unscrewed the lid, taking in a deep breath as she did so. "I brought you here, Dad, because we came here once together, on a good day." She didn't add that a good day meant a sober day. "It was a beautiful day, like today. The sunlight was sparkling on the ocean, and you told me that it was fairies dancing on the top of the water." She smiled at the memory.

"I can't forget everything, Dad, I don't even think I can really forgive everything... but I can accept it. And I can try and move on, and let go." She wiped at her eyes with one hand. "I'm sorry, Dad, I am – but I can't spend the rest of my life feeling guilty for not calling you. I can't spend the next decade tormenting myself with thoughts of what you might or might not have said. I can't get that closure, now, so I have to just walk away, and let it go. And I'm not going to let this dark cloud hang over me anymore. I'm letting go, Dad. I'm letting go, and I'm saying goodbye."

She held the jar up, watching as some of the ashes started to blow out. "Goodbye, Daddy," she whispered as she tipped the jar and shook it, allowing the rest of the ashes to fall, catching in the breeze and rising a little as they floated in the air. "Goodbye," she whispered again as she watched what was left of her father disappear.

She felt so weightless in that moment, almost as though the next gust of wind could lift her off her feet and send her floating towards the wispy clouds. The sound of birds overhead startled her slightly; she redirected her gaze to take in the sight of a dozen seagulls soaring over her head, towards the beach. There was such life everywhere; she saw it in the birds, and in the flowers that grew near her feet, and in the voices of people she could hear calling to one another on the beach. And she felt it, in herself.

Gently she replaced the lid of the now empty urn, and let her eyes wander, drinking in everything she could see from where she now stood. She knew she would never return, not to this place. "Goodbye," she whispered again, both to her father and to something she'd been holding onto for far too long, but had finally been able to let go of. Then, slowly, she began to walk away without looking back.


	24. Chapter 24

One year ago today I posted the first chapter of this story. I really never expected it to take a year to finish, but this story's one year anniversary seems like a fitting time to post the final chapter. I want to thank everyone who has read this story, added it to their favourites or alerts, and taken the time to review. I hope you like the final instalment.

I would also like to dedicate this final chapter to csiangel. I think she knows why ;-)

Chapter Twenty Four

She didn't go straight home; they didn't have to leave for the airport for almost two hours, and there was something she had to do first. Pulling her phone out of her purse, she found the number she wanted and pressed call. He answered on the third ring.

"Hey... it's me."

"Hey. Are you okay?"

She didn't answer. Instead she said, "Meet me at the pier?"

"Fifteen minutes?"

She nodded, although he couldn't see it. "See you then."

She hung up the phone, replacing it in her bag, and headed off in the direction of the pier.

###

"So I guess this is goodbye," he remarked when he saw her approaching.

She didn't say anything, just wrapped one arm around him, the other still clutching the empty urn, and buried her face in his chest. "I did it, Stephen," she said eventually, her voice muffled. "I did it."

He pushed her away from him lightly, just enough so he could look her in the eye. "I know. Mom called. Plus..." he gestured at the urn. "Kind of a giveaway."

"You don't mind, do you? She said you wouldn't mind, that you'd said you didn't want to do it, but I –"

"It's okay, Gillian," he interrupted gently. "She was right. I didn't want to do it. I would have had nothing to say; I said my piece yesterday. Today's a new day. And it was right that it was you."

She nodded, giving him a sad smile. "Promise it won't be so long until the next time I see you?"

"I promise," he said, pulling her into him for another hug.

"And I'll see the kids soon?"

"Come and visit," he told her. "Just name the date, Gillian. I'll square things with Helen. We can hang out together. A family."

_Family_. Her heart seemed to beat a little faster at the sound of that word, and she stepped away from her brother's embrace. "I'd like that." She paused. "I hope you understand why I wanted to say goodbye to you here..."

"You love the pier," he said with a casual shrug, but Gillian shook her head.

"No, I mean... why I didn't want to say goodbye to you at the house."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I understand, Gill."

"When's your flight?"

"Not 'til six. Might hang out with Mom this afternoon, if she's not too busy playing tennis or working out with _André_..."

"Oh, don't," she said, wrinkling her nose at the look on his face, and he laughed.

They stood for a while, Gillian's arm looped through his, watching the gentle waves. When she turned to him he tore his gaze from the ocean, meeting his sister's eyes.

"You never answered my question, the other night," she said.

He was about to reply _what question? _but knew she would just tell him he was deflecting, or stalling for time. Instead he nodded, exhaling slowly. "You're right. I didn't. So I will now." He turned so he was facing her more fully, holding onto her shoulders as he spoke. "Mom told me about the divorce about six weeks after it was final, just before Christmas. Right after you told her you weren't coming home for Christmas."

She swallowed. "Is that why she didn't..."

"Mom's reasons are known only to her – god knows, I stopped trying to figure out that woman a long time ago," he said. "She asked me not to say anything to you. Did I think she was doing the right thing, keeping it from you? No. Did I do as she asked, and not tell you? Yes. Do I feel bad about it? Very."

"It's okay, Stephen. I'm not mad at you. It doesn't really matter anymore, anyway. I just needed to know, that's all." She gave him a reassuring smile, and caught the relief on his face.

"I am sorry, Gill..."

"It's okay," she said again, glancing at her watch. "I should probably get back. I need to finish packing and say goodbye to Mom..."

He nodded. "Want me to walk you back?"

She shook her head. "I kind of want to do it alone."

"Okay." He studied her for a minute, then said seriously, "you know, Gill, if you ever want to talk... about any of... you know..."

She nodded. "Yeah. You too."

"Siblings have to stick together, right?"

"Absolutely." She gave him another quick hug. "Bye, Stephen."

"Bye Gill," he said quietly, watching her as she gave a gentle wave, then started to walk away.

###

Cal didn't ask Gillian about her morning when she returned to the house; his look questioned whether she was alright, and the soft smile she gave him reassured him that she was. They finished packing their bags and ate some lunch that Caroline had prepared for them, after which Cal made his excuses, saying he wanted another few breaths of 'Californian air' before the car arrived to take them to the airport.

Gillian and Caroline shared a look as he left; both knew exactly why he was leaving, of course, and when he'd gone Gillian caught her mother's eye, and they both laughed.

"Californian air," Caroline mused. "Is the air in Washington really that bad?"

Gillian smiled, then felt a flutter of apprehension. "Mom..."

"Gillian," her mother replied, then stood up and walked over to her daughter. "If I make you a promise, will you make me one too?"

"I... I guess," she said, slightly confused. "What is it?"

"I promise to try and be a better mother to you. Now, I'm not a miracle worker. I'm not going to transform into the perfect mother. I'll still annoy you. I'll still infuriate you, sometimes. But... what I won't do is lie to you. And I'll try and behave better in the future. Okay?"

"Okay," Gillian said, her voice breaking a little. "And what...?"

"What I want you to do, Gillian... is live your life." The puzzled expression on her daughter's face told Caroline the matter needed more elaboration, and she sighed gently, smiling as Gillian continued to look at her with raised eyebrows. "What I mean, Gillian... is I want you to not be afraid anymore, of taking chances, taking risks..."

"What kind of..."

"Anything," Caroline said mildly. "Just... the next time something comes along that you're tempted to run away from, because you're too afraid... even if it's something that you really want..." She reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her daughter's ear. "I want you to remember that you only have one life, and that you made a promise, to me, your mother, that you would live it to the fullest. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

"Now," Caroline said. "I think it's time we retrieved Cal from his refreshing walk and got you two ready for the airport, don't you think?"

Gillian nodded and stood up, and they made their way to the front door.

Five minutes later the car had arrived, and the driver was loading their bags into the car.

"Well, goodbye Caroline," Cal said, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you for everything."

There was something about the way he uttered the word _everything _that made Gillian's ears prick up slightly, but both their expressions were too guarded for her to read anything.

"You're welcome, Cal. And you know you're welcome here anytime."

Cal stepped back, wandering down the driveway as Gillian gave her mother a tentative smile. "Thanks, Mom. For... for everything."

"I'm not quite sure you want to thank me for everything, Gillian," her mother said, a trace of amusement in her voice, and Gillian smiled.

"Well... okay. But... you know..." She trailed off helplessly, but Caroline pulled her into a quick hug, sparing her anymore of a conversation that neither knew quite how to finish.

"Goodbye, Gillian," she said. "Have a safe trip."

Gillian nodded as she pulled away, glancing up at the house once more.

"And remember your promise..." Caroline called to her as she climbed in the car. Cal raised his eyebrow at her but didn't verbalise the question, and she chose not to answer it. Instead she stared out the window as the car pulled away, watching the house, and her mother, until they had disappeared completely from view.

###

The journey back was unproblematic, and both were fairly silent as Cal drove from the airport to Gillian's. It was very different to the silence they'd travelled in a few days ago, however.

When they reached her house Cal helped her inside with her bags, and accepted her offer of tea. He sat at her kitchen table as she filled the kettle, then smiled as she took a seat next to him.

"Cal..." She reached out and rubbed his arm lightly. "I just want to say, one more time... thank you. For everything. I really couldn't have made it through the last few days without you."

He took in what she'd said, and in that one second was hit not only with the full force of her words, but with the stark reality of it all. She'd told him that she couldn't have made it through the last few days without him, and now it was clearer to him than ever – he couldn't have made it through the last few _years _without her. She smiled at him gently, her eyes full of warmth and gratitude, and he couldn't believe how ridiculous the situation was; she was thanking him for doing so little, and he'd barely began to repay her for everything she'd done for him in his life.

She gave him another smile, then stood up as the kettle began to boil.

"Gill."

She turned when he called her name, lifting the kettle as she poured the water into their cups. "Yes?"

He stood up and walked towards her, pausing for a moment as he looked at her beautiful face, taking in her expressive eyes and gentle smile. He waited until she'd replaced the kettle, then reached forward and took her hands in his.

"You know that conversation that I said we had a lifetime to have?"

She nodded, her eyes searching his. "Yes."

He smiled at her, wondering how he'd ever find the words to express everything he felt for her, but knowing he had to try. "Let's have it now."


End file.
